Armored Core: Broken Wings
by MrMasher
Summary: Prequel to Armored Core: Burning Path. In 2105, seven years before Global Armaments waged war on the Ravens, the world is a very different place. Berlioz accepts an invitation to a test program that Rayleonard are hosting to gather data on their 03-AALIYAH AC frame. An offer that will lead to his own self-destruction. Written as part of NaNoWriMo 2015! Please R&R!
1. Famous Last Words

A/N: First and foremost! PLEASE NOTE. This is written under the impression that you have already read Armored Core: Burning Path, as such, many concepts, characters and locations won't be explained fully. To prevent confusion and also spoilers for Burning Path, I recommend that you read that before starting this! Second, this is being written as part of NaNoWriMo 2015, this means that you should expect SUPER rough writing as I'm not editing this in anyway shape or form! What you see is what you get! For now, I hope you enjoy Armored Core: Broken Wings!

"That's what we Ninebreakers have become.

We used to be known as the strongest, most skilled fighters.

Honourable men and women who could be counted on to do the right thing. But now?

Now we are little more than animals on a leash.

Monsters who corrupt others to become monsters themselves.

I am the fifth Ninebreaker.

I will be the last."

 _Berlioz Lamond, 2112_

Raven's Ark, Hangar

17:50

18/11/2105

The sound of rapturous cheering and applause filled the transporter hold as the ramp ahead of him slowly fell. As the brilliant lights of the Ark hold hit his eyes, Berlioz Lamond raised an arm to shield himself from the glare.

The audience was the more unexpected part of the experience. The fact that a crowd of over a hundred Ark staff were currently whooping and clapping was still somewhat unreal. As he began to step forwards he could make out what some of the voices were actually saying.

"Alright man!"

"S-Rank! Nice one!"

"You fucking rock man!"

 _S-Rank?_ Had he actually done it? Berlioz knew that he was approaching the point of overtaking the current No.5 and S-Rank Raven, Julius Emery, but apparently he had been far closer than originally thought. He'd have to pay closer attention to the leaderboards from now on.

Everyone knowing his advance into the S-Ranks wasn't uncommon. For the regular rank ups, it was kept between the Raven and the Operator for that particular mission. They would notify the Raven if their position had increased or decreased as and when it happened. But for someone to pass into the elite S-Rank, it was a given that the general population of the Ark would be told of this rare occasion.

The people here had little to cheer for these days, at least an internal event like this could be celebrated without the niggling guilt in the back of your mind that someone else paid for your jubilance with their life.

Berlioz had barely taken a step off the ramp when people were reaching out to shake his hand, pat his back, wide beaming smiles on their faces as they herded him forwards.

Hangar staff wormed their way through the crowd to get to the transporters hold as Berlioz's AC was due for its regular maintenance.

The Armored Core [?] used a Rayleonard 003-AALIYAH frame which required frequent tuning and repair due to the high stress put on the machine's structure and components. Rayleonard's frame was favoured by Ravens who fought using extremely fast manoeuvres in close-quarters battles against numerous opponents. Its speed and power came at a cost as only the more successful Ravens could afford to keep it running.

A loud booming voice echoed through the hangar over the speaker system, he recognised it as Governor Desmond Archambault, the man who led the Ravens, "Congratulations Berlioz, you have advanced from position No.6 to No.5, entering the S-Rank category. I hope to see your success continue into the future."

At that, the crowd's cheering renewed with a vigour. Part of him felt bad for Julius, as his accent into the No.5 position would displace her back into the A-Rank category. She would likely lose the exclusive contract that she held with Rayleonard in a few days and all the privileges that came with it.

But right now, that wasn't his primary concern. Trying to make his way to his debriefing on time was the more important problem at hand. He needed to part the crowd somehow.

"Alright guys," He tried to raise his voice, "I need to get going! I really appreciate this but I have a debriefing to get to!"

To say this was ineffective would be an understatement as it took him another fifteen minutes to escape the hangar. However once he was in the elevator to the upper floors, Berlioz took the time to breathe deeply.

He'd done it, he had entered the elite position all Ravens aimed for, second only to the coveted position that the No.1 held. The person at the very top held the title that inspired both respect and fear in all those who fought on the battlefield.

Ninebreaker. The Ninebreaker was the most powerful Raven in existence, a title that without fail had only passed to its next owner at the demise of the previous. The current Ninebreaker and No.1 Raven was Wynne D. Fanchon, pilot of the AC Reiterpallasch. She was exclusively contracted by Leonemeccanica who were the leading Corporation and had held the Ninebreaker title for over four years, the

He'd seen her on the Ark a handful of times but never actually spoken to her. The position and title she held alone was enough to command an intimidating presence. Trying to speak to her would be like trying to hold small talk with royalty.

Berlioz felt his insides shift with the deceleration of the elevator as it came to a halt, the doors sliding open silently.

The sterile interior of the Ark's upper levels stretched on and on as he worked his way through endless corridors, looking for the room that his Operator was waiting in.

It was only a few minutes and several wrong doors later that he found the correct room. Chiming the door speaker he cleared his throat before saying, "This is Berlioz, reporting for debriefing?"

There was only a short pause before a reply came back, "Ah! Berlioz, please do come in." The sound of the door unlocking clicked before it slid open. It was a small, dimly lit room, the only furnishings being a plain desk at one end and four or five chairs scattered about in front of it.

The sole occupant was an older woman who looked to be in her late thirties or forties, black hair flecked with grey and wrinkles lining her dark skin. Wearing a white dress shirt, he could see a black blazer draped over the chair she was sitting in, the glinting of an Operator's badge on the lapel catching his eye.

She gestured to the seat closest to the desk with one hand, the other, a mechanical prosthetic holding a tablet computer. "Please, take a seat Berlioz." Her voice was soft but he couldn't tell if he could hear hints of what sounded like excitement.

"Thank you," he said quietly before taking the seat indicated. It wasn't exactly comfortable but he didn't expect to be long, he checked his watch.

 _Thirty minutes? I should have time._

The Operator cleared her throat, "Now, I'm going to get the obvious out of the way as I'm sure you know by now, but your performance in this mission was enough to push yourself into the No.5 position and the S-Rank category. You're now eligible to sign an exclusive contract with a Corporation if one is offered to you."

He nodded as she spoke. She was correct in that this was everything he already knew. She continued, sliding her fingers up the tablet, "You achieved all primary and secondary objectives and sustained minimal damage. Your expenditure was also low, the operation review board has seen fit to give you an S-Rank for this mission."

This wasn't the first S-Rank he'd been given for a mission, but they weren't exactly common, he usually averaged A's or the occasional B for the more difficult missions.

"Regarding payment, BFF's reward for the mission was seven hundred and fifty thousand credits, your expenditures on repair and refit come to thirty nine thousand credits, leaving a total profit of seven hundred and eleven thousand credits. You should find the amount in your account in the next half hour or so."

She smiled warmly at him, an unlikely act from the majority of Operators who typically came across as detached and mechanical. A side effect of having to work in a job that occasionally meant listening to those under your care dying.

Berlioz returned the smile after a slight pause, "Thank you, I appreciate it. Was there anything else that needed to be discussed?" He checked his watch visibly to both see the time and also to give the Operator the impression that he was in a hurry.

"Oh?" She raised an eyebrow at that, "Do you have some prior obligation?"

Berlioz gave a wry grin and looked away, scratching the back of his head, "Yeah, sort of. I've got someone waiting for a call from me."

"A special someone? You know I don't know of a single happy relationship that involved Ravens, you ought to be careful you know."

Her heart was in the right place but she was way off the mark. Berlioz waved his hand dismissively, "It's nothing like that, you don't need to worry."

There was a pause before she nodded and looked back down at her tablet, like she was trying to work out if he was lying or not.

"I see, well everything here checks out. There were no issues during the mission and there were no queries from BFF regarding the operation so I think that's everything."

Berlioz stood up from the seat, leaving it where it was as there was nowhere to tuck it in. Taking a look back at the Operator from the door he said "Thank you very much again." Before leaving, shutting the door behind him.

 _Over seven hundred thousand? That's a nice windfall, I'll have to remember to send what's left to the savings account._

He'd set up a second account in his name when his incoming began to far outstrip his outgoings. As a Raven, particularly a highly active one, he didn't have a lot of time to appreciate many luxuries. The excess funds were put away in case anything happened.

Checking his watch again, he saw that he still had fifteen minutes until he was needed, enough time to get back to his room but perhaps not enough to get changed. That wasn't a huge problem, getting changed wasn't absolutely necessary but it would have been nice to get out of the now well-worn jumpsuit and into something a little more comfortable.

Berlioz began the walk back to the elevator as the personnel quarters were on the lower levels in the outer most layers of the Ark's structure. His own quarters were designed only for a single occupant as he had quickly found living with others to be disruptive and moved out of the shared accommodation he had been put into after passing training.

As it was coming up to the time that the regular staff would have their dinner, the walkways were busier than usual with most people heading in the general direction of the cafeteria.

It was strange sometimes, hearing people talking about mundane things like what their parents were up to, how much the cost of food had changed for the better or worse, if some character in a TV show was going to survive the current season.

He'd made the mistake of dedicating himself to missions and little else, meaning even the few people he'd spoken to in training quickly forgot him as he passed on social events and gatherings to make more money.

That was a long time ago now, over six years at this point. He'd been on the Ark for 6 years now and didn't have a single person to call 'friend'. His dedication had cost him dearly, but he could cope with that.

Finally making his way to his quarters he input the code on the door lock, stepping inside immediately after the door opened. Taking a minute to peel his boots off, enjoying the feeling of being free of them, he checked his watch again.

 _Five minutes left… But…_ Walking to the closed laptop computer on the desk in his bedroom, he opened it and the screen flashed to life. Instantly, he was made aware of two things.

One, he had three missed calls in the last seven minutes.

Two, there was an incoming call right this very second.

Pulling the chair out from under the desk, he sat down with a long sigh and a small smile on his face.

 _So impatient._

Answering the call, Berlioz was greeted by the scowling face of his younger sister Alicia, "You're late, asshole."

He took the time to slowly roll up his jumpsuit sleeve in a dramatic fashion, making a big deal of looking at the watch on his right wrist and saying, "Actually, sister dearest, you're early. Still three minutes until six thirty by my watch."

She reached off camera and brought a small digital desktop clock in front of her face pointing at the time it displayed. "Actually," she repeated in a mocking imitation of his own voice, "You're nearly ten minutes late, as you can see. You need a new watch."

Exactly as she said, the clock she held now displayed six thirty eight. His watch was an old mechanical piece, he didn't know the brand or its material worth, but as far as he was concerned, it was invaluable.

He took it off and held it in front of the camera on his laptop in the same way she did with the digital clock.

"Oh? You want me to replace this? Well I guess I could…"

He got an instant reaction, "Woah shit, you still have that? I'd have thought it got smashed up years ago."

Berlioz slipped the watch back on and fastened the metal clasp. Of course she'd assume that it would have been broken by now, she'd given it to him roughly six years ago as a present for passing the Raven's training course.

What he didn't mention was the fact that it actually had been broken a couple of years back, but he'd paid probably three times the watch's value to get it repaired.

Alicia set the clock down and reclined in her seat, spinning a pen between her fingers, "So," she began, swivelling in the chair, "You look like you're still at work, did you just get back?"

He nodded, "Yeah, I thought I might have time to get changed but apparently I was running ten minutes behind."

Absentmindedly, she put the pen in her mouth, chewing the end, "Huh, sorry about that. Was it a rough day?"

The expression on Alicia's face was innocent enough, but as a nineteen year old student at Rayleonard's top university, she wasn't an idiot. She knew what his line of work was.

Back then, when he passed the training, he'd struggled to try and explain what exactly it was that he would be doing day in and day out. The concept of killing for money wasn't a pleasant one. When he'd been in the Rayleonard armed forces, she'd been too young to really understand the bigger picture.

In the end, she did the work for him after she told him that she already knew what the Ravens did. It was probably the thing he was most grateful for, that she accepted him despite the things he did.

At first, she had openly expressed concern for the fact that one day he might not make it home, but his experience in the military meant that he quickly proved that he was safe enough for the time being. She might not mention it anymore, but he suspected the reason she made the request for these calls every other day was so she could make sure he was still alive.

"It was a little hairy at times but I came out with a decent paycheck. Nothing to worry about really. How's class going?"

She slumped in her seat, "God I hate it, I know I need to do it but couldn't they make it a little more interesting? Sometimes I wonder if you chose the better career path."

He wouldn't admit it but her saying that felt wrong considering how well she was doing on her end. She was studying biochemistry and anatomy to become a surgeon, her hands were destined to save lives, not end them.

The inverse nature of their lives wasn't lost on him.

"It might be a little boring but I think you're going to do more good in this world than I am. Also I like the idea of you not being shot at every day."

He was trying his best to not make it sound like he was coddling her, but Alicia could on occasion be as stubborn as him. Thankfully today she appeared to yield without much effort.

"I guess that makes sense, but I'm sure there are a lot of people still alive because of what you have to do."

 _Maybe, but I don't tell you how many die either._

Berlioz shifted in his seat, "Perhaps, I don't like to think about it too much." Turning off during a fight was something that he'd started doing towards the end of his military service, it came in handy when he became a Raven.

They continued talking for another twenty minutes or so until Alicia had to go back to her studies. Berlioz didn't mind so much as his bed was looking particularly inviting after spending over two hours in the cramped space of his AC's cockpit. Sometimes you had no choice but to sleep in the small seat, but he'd held off on the broken slumber for the opportunity for something a little more comfortable.

Eventually being able to drag the jumpsuit off, he crawled under the covers, not bothering to set an alarm. He could check the mission posting board when he woke up, no need to look now as the listing could be completely different by the time he got up again.

For now, the best thing for him to do was to close his eyes, and sleep.

#####

The sound of Berlioz's door alarm was what woke him, someone repeatedly pushing the button every five seconds. He lifted his right wrist above his face, wincing at the pain and waited for the watch face to slowly focus in his bleary vision.

 _Six… Six twenty three? Shit…_

He'd ended up sleeping for nearly twelve hours, an extremely rare occurrence these days. Normally he wouldn't allow himself to sleep in that long but obviously he needed the extra rest. However extra rest was no longer on the table as the door alarm continued to ring out through the quarters.

Almost every joint in his body hurt. The price he paid for his over-enthusiastic acceptance of mission requests. It was a similar issue to the one that twenty first century fighter jet pilots suffered after years of pulling high-G manoeuvres, their bodies began to wear down at an accelerated rate, losing the strength in their muscles and joints. The speed at which Armored Cores moved, particularly those using high speed frames like the 03-AALIYAH, subjected Ravens to G-forces in nearly all three dimensions, peaking around eleven to thirteen g's.

The Ark medical staff had warned Berlioz that he likely only had a year of unsupported movement before he'd need a walking stick or cane to remain upright without someone to help him. If he carried on regardless, within a few years, he wouldn't be able to move without a constant dosage of painkillers.

Knowing that they wouldn't be able to hear him through the door, he ignored the alarm and pulled himself out of bed, picking up a pair of tracksuit bottoms and a plain white t-shirt.

He wasn't going to dress up for strangers at his door with no forewarning. It took him a few seconds to get to the door, turning on the external speaker.

"Yes? Can I help you?" There was only a second before the reply came back. It was a woman's voice, sounding clear and confident.

"My name is Ms. Sanders, Is this the quarters of Berlioz?" He could hear her trail off slightly as she realised there was no second name. He'd deliberately gone to the trouble of scrubbing his surname from all public records the moment he became a Raven. Stories had been told of personal attacks against the families and relatives of Ravens when their targets survived and came back for revenge.

The thought of Alicia getting caught up in something like that terrified him, so every precaution was taken to ensure her safety. Not even the family that had raised her for most of her life knew her real surname.

"Yeah," He said quietly. "Who's asking?" Berlioz had turned the door monitor on so he could see who he was speaking too. At the front was the woman he assumed he was Ms. Sanders, behind her was a man, both wearing jet black suits with deep crimson ties. He couldn't make it out on the man, but on Ms. Sander's blazer lapel was a small red pin in the shape of Rayleonard's symbol, a long red line with a loop at the end, another short red line going vertically through the loop.

 _Rayleonard representatives?_

"You could say that we are part of an interested party who would like to make you an offer, may we speak with you inside?"

So far they seemed legit, but he wasn't going to let anyone just stroll in. "Do you have any official identification?"

He could almost see the annoyance flicker across her face as she turned slightly to look back at her partner. The man reached into his blazer and handed over a small plastic card, before crossing his arms and looking away from the monitor.

Ms. Sanders held up both cards to let Berlioz see them. He took the time to look at them closely. Both Ms. Sanders and Mr. Kingshott were apparently from Rayleonard's Experimental Research and Development, the AkvaVit group. AkvaVit was the division of Rayleonard's R&D that handled the creation and improvement of theoretical and prototypical weapons and equipment.

Rayleonard's most advanced weapons were designed, built and tested by AkvaVit scientists. The fact that they were visiting him begged several questions.

"Is everything in order?" Ms. Sanders asked calmly, despite the fact she was clearly irritated that he'd drawn this entire procedure out.

Berlioz didn't want to have to deal with whatever it was they wanted but having taken the time to make them identify themselves, he felt somewhat obligated to hear them out.

"Yeah alright, door's opening."

"Thank you."

He switched off both the monitor and the speaker, unlocking the door and allowing them to enter, stepping aside as they came into the hallway.

"Thank you Berlioz, I apologise for arriving unannounced. I hope we didn't interrupt anything important?"

He shook his head, "No, nothing important." Leading the pair into the small living/dining room, he offer them a seat on the sofa against the far wall, "Please, make yourselves comfortable."

They both sat down as Berlioz went to the kitchen area, "Can I offer you anything to drink?" He asked more out of politeness than an actual desire to serve them.

Mr. Kingshott was silent but Ms. Sanders replied, "No, thank you." Berlioz nodded before pulling a glass out of the cupboard above his sink and pouring himself some water.

Returning to the room where the two representatives were, he lowered himself slowly into a plain leather armchair.

He was about to speak when Ms. Sanders beat him to it, "You walk with a slight limp, old injury?"

The question caught him off-guard for a moment, "Huh? Oh, no it's not. A side effect of the job. Joint erosion." He took a careful sip of his water, now very aware of the subtle ache in his fingers.

"Oh, my apologies." She looked away slightly, Berlioz took the opportunity to speak, setting down his glass.

"So," he began, leading back into the armchair, "What brings AkvaVit and Rayleonard here to the Ark?"

Ms. Sanders turned to her partner, who pulled a small unmarked envelope out of his blazer's inside pocket, handing it to her who in turn, passed it to Berlioz. "You'll find all the details you need in there."

Giving her a slightly confused glance, he peeled open the envelope and pulled out the single folded piece of paper. He began reading.

 _To whom this may concern,_

 _You have been selected to participate in a special testing program hosted by Rayleonard and the AkvaVit Research Group._

 _This program is to improve the capabilities of Rayleonard's 03-AALIYAH Armored Core frame. As a noted regular user of the 03-AALIYAH frame and as an A-Rank or higher Raven, you have been selected to participate._

 _For your time and effort, upon your acceptance, an advanced payment of two million credits will be forwarded to your account, with a later payment of ten million credits should you complete the program._

 _Additional bonuses will be discussed further upon your arrival._

 _Please inform the representatives that delivered this message of your decision as soon as possible._

 _Best Regards,_

 _Victor Rayleonard_

Berlioz reread the letter again before folding it back up and putting it back into the envelope. He let out a long sigh before looking at the two representatives.

"Do I have to give an answer right now?"

The two million upfront was a sizable amount to give for simply accepting this program. But if the mission board was favourable, he could make that amount in a week.

It was Mr. Kingshott that spoke this time, "You're not obligated to answer now, but the number of slots available in the program are limited as Rayleonard's own in-house test pilots are also participating alongside any Ravens that accept."

Ms. Sanders followed up with, "Meaning that it's in your best interest to either accept or decline now to secure a place."

He wanted more time to think it over, perhaps to discuss it with Alicia to see what she thought of the whole thing. But apparently they wanted an answer there and then, despite the offer to wait.

"Can I ask how exactly this is going to work? I don't want to accept this blindly."

Ms. Sander's glanced to her partner before answering, "Shortly after accepting, we will take you to an underground testing range that we built for this program. The entire testing process should take roughly three months. The facility will provide you with everything you need during your stay. I'm afraid at this stage those are all the details I can provide at this time."

He had only just advanced to S-Rank, did he really need to push himself at this stage? Would he be seen as reaching too far too fast?

"Berlioz?" Ms. Sanders looked expectantly at him. Berlioz flipped the letter in his hands for a second until he came to a decision, passing it back to her.

"Ok, I'm in."


	2. Ruiner

Raven's Ark, Berlioz's Quarters

08:55

20/11/2105

"Hey Sis, just leaving you a message to say you might not be able to reach me for a while. Something pretty big has come up and I'm gonna be away from the Ark. I'll try and contact you in some way the moment I'm able to so don't panic, alright? Ok I've gotta go now, love you."

Hanging up, Berlioz slipped the mobile into his pocket before walking out the door, letting it lock behind him. Waiting for him outside his door was Ms. Sanders, having come to collect him for Rayleonard's test program.

"Everything in order?" She asked. He'd realised that he needed to leave Alicia a message as she wouldn't know what was happening. Berlioz wasn't allowed to tell any the details of what he was doing, but at least she'd know he was alive instead of dropping off the face of the Earth.

Nodding, he answered, "Yeah, I'm good now. Let's go." With that, the two of them walked towards the central elevator.

"Do you know roughly how long the trip will be?" Berlioz was asking more because it was fairly early in the day and losing hours to travel was one of the worst parts of the job.

He didn't get an immediate answer, leading him to glance at Ms. Sanders. Her face was unchanging, like he'd never spoken in the first place. "Uhh…"

She gave a short sigh before finally saying, "I'm afraid I can't say any more than it's a not exactly a short flight."

As they left the elevator, a thought struck him, "I'm not sure how effective this whole security deal you've got going is. If someone wanted to find your research facility then all they'd have to do is track the transporter surely?"

Turning the corner to the hanger, a small smirk spread across Ms. Sander's face, "Transporter? I never mentioned a transporter."

Berlioz never had the chance to question this comment as the bulkhead to the Hangar opened to reveal their ride to Rayleonard's testing facility.

It was obsidian black, almost completely flat and angular, like a cut stone. An aircraft he didn't recognise in the slightest sat ready to taxi onto the Ark's runway.

"I won't bore you with the details and specifications," started Ms. Sanders as the pair approached the plane, "But in this, I highly doubt anybody will be able to follow us."

None of the Hangar staff appeared to want to go near the thing for fear of some unseen reprimand, like a great force would smite them for their curiosity.

Entering through a small ramp that dropped out of the underside of the plane, they emerged into a lavishly decorated passenger area that looked to be designed to hold four or five VIPs.

 _So this is some sort of business jet? A private aircraft?_

Ms. Sanders, almost as if reading his mind said, "We use these to move important people to and from locations while keeping their route unknown. Independent strikes against Corporation board members has been on the rise in the last few years and the Rayleonard Corporation wishes to keep those in its care as safe as possible."

"These? You have more than one of these things?" Berlioz could only imagine how much something like this cost.

"We have a handful as often meetings and transfers take place at the same time, we need enough of them to be able to have one on hand to cover all events and persons." She waved her hand dismissively before gesturing towards one of the seats, "Please take a seat. I will be in the cabin with the pilot if you need anything."

With that, she left him. He made the mistake of sitting in one of the large plush looking armchairs, only to almost get swallowed by the furniture due to its extreme softness.

As he adjusted himself to get into a more reasonable position in the unreasonably soft seat, the aircraft began taxiing onto the Ark's airstrip.

In moments he could see the crystal clear sky out of the window to his left, not a cloud in sight. From nearly three kilometres in the air, he could see for miles and miles across the baked ground of the North American continent.

For the time being this would be all he'd see as the jet's afterburner lit, an almost overpowering roar filling the cabin space as they pulled away from the Ark's runway.

Berlioz didn't know when exactly he'd fallen asleep, but he was awoken by the sound of Ms. Sanders speaking to him. "Berlioz, we are beginning our approach, please be ready to disembark soon."

The line cut and he slowly sat upright in the seat. Straightening out his jumpsuit, he looked out the window again. Instead of the endless desert that stretched out underneath the Ark, he saw a vast forest, a sea of green flecked with white in the distance.

A thin mist had settled around the base of the forest, giving the trees the impression that they were swaying in an ocean churned into a foamy grey.

However he didn't get a long time to appreciate the view as the aircraft banked to one side, leaving him with nothing but the dull, overcast sky to look at. It was pretty in its own way, but the sudden anxiety of knowing that they were about to arrive spoiled the experience.

As their altitude dropped, more and more questions started running around his head.

 _What exactly was going to happen during this program? Who else had accepted? Was it going to be dangerous?_

Berlioz didn't have any of the answers to those questions, but as they suddenly touched down, he knew that he'd be getting them soon enough. The deep rumbling of landing gear against tarmac was overpowered by the roar of the engine flaring as the thrust-reverser was engaged, the deceleration almost pulling him out of his seat.

The entire process was swift and professional, over in minutes as the slowly taxiing aircraft came to a halt and Ms. Sanders opened the cabin door.

"Now Berlioz, if you'd like to follow me?" She walked past him while saying this, lowering the same ramp that they had walked up. As he stood up, he checked his watch, noting that just over three hours had passed since they left the Ark.

At the speed they were likely travelling, they could be almost anywhere in North America or even further.

Before he lost sight of Ms. Sanders, he walked after her down the ramp and out into the cold mist that covered the runway. While his visibility was barely twenty metres in front of him, the piercing lights of the runway cut through, along with several equally bright lights that appeared to mark out a small bunker that was situated alongside the tarmac.

Ms. Sanders said nothing further, instead, making a beeline for the bunker, with Berlioz forced to trail her with no explanation for what was happening or where they were going.

She had mentioned that the facility was underground, leaving him to assume that this bunker was perhaps the entrance. After walking a short distance, the figures of two soldiers wearing body armour and full face helmets faded into view.

They shifted as she approached but didn't raise their rifles. Slowly, Ms. Sanders pulled out the same ID card that she had shown Berlioz and held it front of her. Berlioz stood behind her, off to one side as one of the soldiers reach out, plucking the card from her hand and holding it in front of his face.

"Alright you're clear, who's the guy behind you?" A crackly voice sounded out from the small speakers embedded in the soldier's helmet as he looked around Ms. Sanders at Berlioz.

She glanced back at him before answering, "He's the last member of the program. I'll be taking him to the meeting once we're inside."

The soldier looked between Ms. Sanders and her ID before handing it back to her, "Alright, go on through." His partner turned around and input a code into a panel next to the large bunker blast door. A moment later the door lifted roughly seven foot, allowing the two of them to enter.

The second they crossed the threshold, the blast door lowered, closing with a deep boom that Berlioz felt in his bones.

Clearing his throat, Berlioz asked "Is security this tight throughout the entire facility?" The thought of having to prove his identity at every corner wasn't appealing.

"In some areas you'll need ID to pass through, but for the most part the security of the facility is ensured due to the secrecy surrounding it. Most people aren't aware that it even exists."

He could count himself as part of that group, he knew that AkvaVit existed, but as for the details surrounding it and any of the facilities that the division used he was just as clueless as anyone else.

They continued walking at a slight downwards incline, small lights lining the bare rock wall, spaced roughly two metres apart. After roughly a minute of walking in silence, they approached a second set of blast doors, also flanked by a pair of armed guards. However Ms. Sanders didn't need to fish her ID out as it became apparent that the earlier set of guards had called ahead to inform the two of them of their arrival.

These blast doors were considerably smaller, parting in the middle rather than a single mass sliding upwards. They didn't rattle Berlioz as they came to a halt.

Still wordlessly, they walked through onto what looked like a service elevator, a metal platform ringed by a rusted yellow barrier and a thin chain link grate that slid across with a grinding screech.

"What happened?" Berlioz started with a slight grin, "Rayleonard run out of money when they built this?"

Ms. Sanders apparently either missed the joke or ignored it, "No, we're using a secondary entrance, the primary one isn't designed for use by human sized objects. No need to spend the same amount of money here."

Maybe it was just him, but the silence that followed was more awkward than before his inane statement.

The speed at which the elevator descended felt reasonable, but after nearly two minutes of just standing, he almost wanted to ask how long it'd take. The chance was taken from him when they came to an abrupt halt in front of a pair of sliding doors with frosted glass filling the centre.

Ms. Sanders walked forwards and the doors parted automatically, the sound of people walking, talking and going about their lives suddenly filled the space where Berlioz stood.

He quickly stepped forwards to keep pace with her as they moved into a very cold and clinical looking corridor full of recessed lighting and steel panelling, metal railings along all the walls. It reminded him of a hospital.

"Ok," said Berlioz quietly, "I'm here, what happens now?" He was beginning to feel nervous as his unfamiliarity with the situation set in.

She turned to face him properly for the first time since they left the aircraft on the surface, "First things first, you have a meeting to attend with the rest of the test pilots, I will take you there and after that you will be in someone else's care. They will show you to your new quarters and make sure that everything is in order for you."

"Who is giving the meeting?" Berlioz asked, the reply from Ms. Sanders was immediate and had a strange lilt to it.

"I'm afraid you'll have to find out when you get there."

From there, the two of them weaved their way through people wearing lab coats or sealed full body suits like the ones worn by chemical plant workers. Stainless steel trollies loaded with computers and assorted electronic components were scattered around with people moving them from room to room.

Fortunately there was no need to take yet another elevator somewhere, and after only a few minutes, Berlioz and Ms. Sanders found themselves standing outside a room marked 'Conference Room 3'.

"Here we are, I'm sure you can handle yourself from here, Berlioz." The thin smile she wore turned to surprise as he extended his hand to her.

"Thank you for your help Ms. Sanders, I appreciate it." He tried his best to sound genuine as he really was grateful.

She gave a warm smile and took his hand firmly, "It's Vivian, I wish you all the best, Raven."

With that, she turned away from him and walked away, taking the first right hand corner. Now with nothing left to stop him, Berlioz pressed the small button next to the door, letting the cool air from inside the room flow over him.

Inside, was what looked like a lecturer's hall with concentric ascending rows of seats all facing a stage with a podium at the centre. The fact that a research base had even one of these rooms, let alone potentially more than three seemed bizarre at best.

Scattered across the seats in single or pairs were people wearing the same or at least similar jumpsuits to the one he wore.

Remembering that Vivian mentioned Rayleonard's own in-house test pilots would be taking part in the program.

Corporation test pilots were the only people aside from Ravens who were permitted to use Armored Cores, and test pilots were only allowed to use ACs inside designated testing ranges, nowhere else. Any Corporation found to be operating ACs independently from the Ravens would be in breach of the Raven's Declaration of Independence and while Berlioz didn't know the consequences, he was sure that severe was an appropriate descriptor.

Those in the same coloured jumpsuit as him were outnumbered by those in the slightly different one, and for the most part those in the same were predominately the ones sitting alone. He made the assumption that they were the other Ravens who accepted the same offer as the one that was given to him a few days ago.

Choosing to follow their example, he moved to a row roughly in the middle, a few feet away from another Raven.

Typically your identifying patches were worn on your right hand shoulder, meaning that this other Raven would be able to know exactly who he was, but Berlioz would be totally in the dark.

For now at least, this other Raven seemed disinterested in making conversation, so Berlioz simply ignored him and faced forwards.

Roughly a minute passed before the lights dimmed. If it weren't for the spotlight illuminating the podium, he would be convinced he'd accidentally taken a seat in a theatre or cinema.

From the right-hand side, a somewhat portly man in a pinstripe three-piece suit with thinning hair stepped out onto the stage, the bright light making his pale, wrinkled face look sallow and discoloured. He looked to be in his forties, maybe even his fifties, but his train of thought was derailed the moment this person began to speak.

"Good afternoon pilots. My name is Victor Rayleonard, I am the CEO of the Rayleonard Corporation and the one that organised this event."

He had a voice similar to Governor Archambault, deep and resonating. Amplified in the conference hall, it reverberated through Berlioz's entire body.

Victor continued, "I do apologise for this, but I'm afraid I need to ensure that all attendees are here. Think of it as taking attendance."

As he started to read out names and their respective owners answered, Berlioz zoned out for a moment. It was strange to think that so many years ago, he killed in the name of the man standing before him. Now once again, he was working directly under him.

He was wondering if working for Rayleonard was going to be a permanent feature of his life, when he was shocked back to reality with two words.

"Berlioz Lamond?"

He sat in stunned silence before quickly stammering, "Uh, here!"

 _What the fuck? I know he's the CEO of a Corporation but he shouldn't have access to files that still have my family name!_

Berlioz didn't have the time to contemplate further as Victor continued, "Good good, looks like everybody is here as planned."

He shuffled some papers on the podium, "Now, let's get down to business. As you all know, you are here to participate in a test program that will allow us to push Rayleonard's 03-AALIYAH frame to its absolute limits and to then to surpass those limits."

It was roughly five years ago that Berlioz had been able to afford his own AC, choosing to use Rayleonard's 03-AALIYAH frame. Even then, there were those who considered the design dated and flawed. Being the first true AC design originally completed just before the Great Destruction, at this point it was over fourteen years old and almost every other Corporation had based their initial designs on the AALIYAH with the intention of surpassing it.

In some ways they did, and others they couldn't. The AALIYAH was never built with the intention of fighting other ACs, as originally it's only opponents were the disorganised and fractured forces of the former world nations. Its lightning speed and manoeuvrability were its greatest strengths, allowing it to cut through any and all opposition without taking a single hit.

During the National Dismantlement War that immediately followed the Great Destruction, not a single Corporation AC was lost to enemy fire.

Those same strengths were utilised against its targets today, but the rate at which Ravens were being deployed against each other was slowly increasing as the Corporations put more and more pressure on each other, for workforce population, mineral sites, and fertile land.

That was likely the reason for this program, with the potential threat of facing other Armored Cores on the battlefield in the near future, Rayleonard needed to be able to compete on the same level as the other Corporation's AC frames.

The 03-AALIYAH's speed was enabled by the fact that it's armour was paper thin and it's boosters were extremely powerful, however to cut down on weight and size, it's generator was the smallest on the market despite having one of the highest outputs.

It sacrificed its capacitor size, meaning that the usual heavy booster usage that an AALIYAH pilot would use could deplete his energy reserves in a very short amount of time, leaving them vulnerable.

Inadequate armour and low capacitor size. It was likely these two core limitations that Victor looked to overcome with this testing program.

Victor shuffled his papers again, "However," he looked up at them all with a confidant grin, "We can create the most powerful Armored Core in the world, but without the world's greatest pilot, we'd be doing a half-baked job. Here at Rayleonard, we don't do half-baked jobs."

 _Wait what?_ Concern flooded through Berlioz. There had been no mention of anything to do with pilots, he was under the impression this had been all about the AALIYAH frame and nothing else.

He listened intently, "You may remember the additional bonuses that were mentioned in the letter sent to you? This is where that comes in."

Again, he shuffled his papers, moving to the next page, "Due to the mix of both Rayleonard test pilots and Ravens here, the bonus for passing will differ slightly for each."

One of the test pilot's raised their hand nervously, obviously worried about interrupting. Victor noticed and nodded, allowing the man to speak, "You said 'bonus for passing'? Are you saying that we're being tested as well?"

Smiling, Victor nodded, "Indeed that is the case. This is not only a program to gather data on the 03-AALIYAH frame for its improvement, we will simultaneously be putting you all through a series of rigorous trails to see which, if any of you, are fit to pilot the product of this program."

His smile shifted to a wry grin showing teeth at one side.

"For the test pilots that manage to achieve the passing grade, we have arranged with the Raven's Ark for an immediate opportunity to begin training as a Raven with all charges covered by the Rayleonard Corporation."

Even Berlioz's eyes widened at that, there were thousands of applicants every year for people seeking to join their ranks. The amount of people that actually were accepted just to begin the harsh training was a tiny fraction. From that, only groups in the single digits made it through that.

To be able to bypass the initial selection process was a huge advantage if the pilot was particularly skilled. It was his three years of piloting MTs for Rayleonard's military that enabled him to quickly adapt to the conditions of piloting an Armored Core.

Victor still had to say what the bonus for the Ravens was though. Berlioz was wondering if agreeing to this program was a mistake, he didn't sign up for a competition.

"For the Raven," Victor started, "that achieves the highest score among their peers, we already have written up a very lucrative exclusive contract that will be available to the A-Ranked Ravens here as well, not just the two S-Rankers here."

Several questions exploded in Berlioz's mind. The fact that they were offering an exclusive contract meant that as he thought, Julius's demotion to A-Rank had cost him his contract with Rayleonard and was now up for grabs.

The offer of an exclusive contract to A-Ranked Ravens was unheard of as well. Originally it was only the S-Ranked Ravens that were eligible for such an offer, for Rayleonard to wave an exclusive contract under the noses of A-Ranked Ravens meant that they were desperate to get this supposed, best pilot in the world.

It was the mention of another S-Rank Raven in the program that caught Berlioz's attention. He wasn't entirely sure, but he was under the impression that the only S-Ranked Raven without an exclusive contract was himself.

The current Ninebreaker and S-Rank 1 was Wynne D. Fanchon was signed to Leonemeccanica. The S-Rank 3 Raven was David 'Unseel' Brooke, signed to BFF and finally there was the S-Rank 4 Raven Dario Empio who was signed to Rosenthal.

 _Wait who was the S-Rank 2 Raven?_ The fact that Berlioz couldn't even remember who the S-Rank 2 Raven was meant that it was entirely possible that they were the other S-Ranked Raven without a contract. He hadn't been paying attention when Victor was reading out the other names, so he completely missed who it could have been.

Berlioz turned his attention back to Victor, "For now, that will be all. You have the rest of today to settle into the facility and get your bearings. I look forward to seeing the results of all your hard work."

With another smile, he gave a shallow bow before them all and walked off the stage from the same direction as he entered.

Immediately the low murmur of chatter set in, mostly between the Rayleonard test pilots, only a couple of Ravens were talking. Taking a longer moment to look around him, he counted eight Ravens and just over twenty test pilots, so the rough total count of program members was around thirty.

As Berlioz finished looking around, he caught the gaze of the Raven that was sitting to his right.

The Raven gave him a thin smile, "You must be the new S-Ranker that cost Julius his contract? I've got to admit I'm grateful you did as now there's a contract that I can finally get."

For the first words to hear from someone, they were not what Berlioz expected. "Um, excuse me?" He needed to back up and assess who exactly was talking to him.

"Oh, my apologies. I simply mean that I haven't been offered an exclusive contract despite being the S-Rank 2 Raven, it was beginning to become somewhat disheartening to hear people talking about me behind my back but now I finally have a chance to achieve what I've been denied."

Berlioz was still clearly out of the loop. This person was unlike any other Raven he'd spoken too, not that he'd actually held a decent conversation with many Ravens.

"Wait, why would people be talking about you behind your back?" Learning more about this strange character was imperative to not getting lost in the conversation.

The Raven looked away slightly, breaking the eye contact Berlioz didn't notice they'd been holding, "I like to ensure that all mission objectives are completed to the highest degree, but apparently others refer to that as overkill."

"Overkill? How so?"

He looked back at Berlioz, that thin smile returning, "I reduced an entire BFF firebase to ash in ten minutes. The Raven they hired to protect the position still hasn't woken up. What was the word they used? Ahhh, yes… Brutal."

If someone had poured ice over Berlioz at the same time as he heard this Raven speak, he would have thought a warm shower had started. The chill that flowed over his skin was unreal, just from his words. That smile.

All of it was wrong.

He stood up, looking down at Berlioz, "Now," the Raven glanced at the patch on his shoulder, "Lamond was it? I look forward to working with you." He stretched out his hand to Berlioz.

Berlioz hoped that this Raven didn't notice the shiver in his hand when he took it. "I'm sorry but I didn't catch your name?"

A flash of shock shot across his face before he answered, smiling.

"Apologies, my name is Maximilian Thermidor, pilot of the Armored Core Stasis."


	3. Your Time Will Come Again

Rayleonard/AkvaVit Testing Range, Hanger Two

11:45

09/01/2106

Berlioz stood with his arms crossed, staring up at a light blue 03-AALIYAH AC, watching as the head lifted away from the core. He waited for the pilot's head to become visible as they climbed out before shouting up, "You're putting me to shame Thermidor! You need to slow down so I can catch up!"

The scowling pilot glared down at him, "I'm getting tired of being cut off early! They assume that such limited damage is enough to complete a mission!"

The last two months had been difficult at best, utterly exhausting at worst. Berlioz had spent hundreds of hours in a cockpit, he felt like he could start and operate the 03-AALIYAH blindfolded with an arm behind his back at this point.

For the first week they had done baseline tests to assess the general skill of each test pilot, as well as their familiarity with the AC frame. For the most part, everyone fell equally across the board aside from a handful of outliers that far and away outstripped the others. Berlioz and Thermidor fell inside that group, the two of them leading the rest.

After that, it was a rigorous and strictly structure training program consisting of hours in Armored Cores, pushing the frames to their limits, throwing them into every imaginable combat situation possible.

The facility engineering department worked night and day repairing and refitting the test ACs. Performing regular maintenance and tuning as the day's data was processed.

It was never ending. Day in day out, they rotated shifts of pilots so that testing could continue regardless of the time. He would have made a comparison to forced labour if the facility wasn't actually a pleasant place to live.

The food was hot and always freshly cook with a range of meals that beat even what the Ark's usually diverse cafeteria offered. The rooms were cleaned regularly and all of their clothing was provided and cleaned by the facility staff. It could have been mistaken for a classy hotel if it were for the cold sterile environments and the armed guards patrolling the corridors and rooms.

As the weeks had gone on, it became apparent that the minimum standards for staying in the running rose quickly. Meaning pilots that couldn't improve their score eventually were removed from the program and were relegated to piloting OPFOR AC frames during tests with their former partners.

He hated the fact that those who dropped out were forced to assist in the progression of the ones still competing. It was like their faces were being shoved into the dirt, being told 'they are the winners, you are the losers'.

On the other hand, Thermidor held little else but contempt for nearly everyone else involved in the program. Berlioz suspected that had they not started speaking right at the beginning, he could have been looked down on with that same bitter disposition.

He watched as the other S-Ranked Raven climbed down the gantry ladder, hanger staff moving around Berlioz with tools and parts ready to begin repair of the AC.

Thermidor never stopped moving once he reached the ground, walking straight past Berlioz saying, "I missed breakfast today so I'm in desperate need of a meal. I hope you don't mind an early lunch?"

He shook his head, "No that's fine, I'll join you. My next testing session isn't for over an hour now so I've got time," and followed after him.

As they walked, Berlioz thought on the two months he'd spent with the Raven. Thermidor was the only person that had decided to stick with him after the initial week of testing. Perhaps the resentment of being left in the dust was something people struggled to overcome.

Despite being the S-Rank 2 Raven, he hadn't heard very much about Thermidor, although that could be partly Berlioz's fault for not speaking to anyone on the Ark. But in the short space of time that they had been working together, he'd gotten to know the reclusive man a little better.

He had to wince internally at the realisation that he was calling Thermidor a recluse despite his own behaviour. _A case of takes one to know one?_ He thought to himself.

Although, the Raven in front of him was intimidating enough in person, standing half a foot taller than him and weighing over twenty kilos more than him according to the pilot profiles that Berlioz had read when he started. It was Thermidor's performance in an AC that genuinely frightened him.

The man was a monster, there was no question that he was the most skilled Raven that Berlioz had seen fight in person, he'd earned the S-Rank 2 position. In every combat scenario, Thermidor had completed the test objectives with overwhelming force, using every weapon and munition at his disposal to annihilate target after target.

He could see why the facility staff were quick to end test runs with Thermidor.

"You know," Berlioz started, "If they didn't shut you down so fast, you could end up really hurting someone."

Thermidor gave a short laugh, like he didn't believe him, "That's of no concern to me. I don't want to lose points because they're overzealous with the remote cut-off."

"Come on," said Berlioz, now beginning to feel slightly nervous, "You don't _actually_ want to kill the other test pilots? Right?" Sometimes he felt that clarification on subjects like this was important.

However, at first Thermidor was silent. The lack of reply was almost as unsettling as an affirmation of his desire to kill.

Then, "You've probably heard it before," he began, "But the only time you'll see what someone is really made of, is when their life is on the line and their back is to the wall."

Thermidor slowed his pace, now walking alongside Berlioz, looking down at him, "It's only then that their true strength comes into play. I wish to see that strength in everyone on the battlefield. As someone who also puts their life at risk to fight, you should expect nothing less than the absolute best your opponent has to offer. Anything less, is an insult to that risk you endure on the front-lines."

Berlioz raised an eyebrow at Thermidor's statement as they entered the facility's mess hall, "Well there you go, that's why they cut you short, Thermidor. This isn't a battlefield, this is a test range, so no one's life is at risk here."

"Really?" He replied, picking up a dinner tray and moving around to the line of people waiting for food, "We sit in war machines built for naught but killing, loaded with the same ammunition we slaughter thousands with and you say our lives aren't at risk? I would like to visit whatever world you live in, Lamond."

Berlioz had grabbed a tray after Thermidor, staring at a row of chilled fruit tarts, trying to process what was said. Of course, those words made sense. You could try and detach what you were doing from the reality of it, but at the end of the day it would always come crashing back down on you.

An arm reaching across his vision snapped him back as Thermidor plucked a pastry tart with whipped cream from in front of him.

"I recommend the strawberry." He said before moving down the line.

Berlioz wondered if Thermidor ever got tired of the mood whiplash he seemed to perpetually live on.

A minute later, the pair had a plate of steaming hot food, a portion of beef lasagne for Thermidor and minted lamb roast for Berlioz. He had taken Thermidor's advice and also chosen the strawberry tart.

They ate in silence at first, focusing on eating. But it was Thermidor that broke the silence first.

"What time does your test run end today?" Looking up at him, Thermidor had paused with a forkful of food waiting on his plate.

"Uhh," Berlioz had to glance at a large clock on a nearby wall, "Around six thirty?" He wondered what Thermidor had planned.

"I've managed to book a couple of simulator units for this evening, are you free? I feel like giving you another shot at balancing our scores out." A thin smile crossed his face, a glint in his eyes said that he was itching for a fight.

A fight that Berlioz was happy to accept.

"I need to make a call after my session, but once that's done, I'm certainly able to make time. You're on, Thermidor!"

#####

13:35

03/02/2106

With his arms folded over his chest and his back to the wall, Thermidor still refused to look Berlioz in the eye. Choosing instead to turn his head and stare down the corridor.

"Hey! Hey, fucking look at me!" Berlioz nearly shouted, trying not attract any attention despite the lack of personnel in the area. But despite this, Thermidor's head remained unmoving. It wasn't tilted or downturned, just level and defiant, he felt no shame for what he'd done.

Moments earlier in his last test run, Thermidor had disregarded the safe engagement range between ACs in the testing area and attacked his opponent using his rifle as a makeshift melee weapon. He'd caved the other AC's cockpit in, severing both of the pilot's legs.

The other pilot survived, but was still unconscious in the facility's ICU. The doctors had already ordered a set of prosthetic legs for him, paid for by Rayleonard as part of his compensation.

"You don't get it do you? I feel like I'm telling you this more and more these days but this isn't war. Stop going out of your way to try and kill your opponent!"

Still nothing. Thermidor clearly had nothing to say in his defence because he didn't believe he needed one. So confidant was he that he would stand there while Berlioz did his best to see reason without speaking a single word.

Getting frustrated, Berlioz could feel his temper slipping, "I've been trying to cover for you for weeks now, trying to convince them anyway how that this isn't who you are, that you aren't a violent man. But every goddamn time you get into that cockpit you make it harder and harder for me!"

For the first time since climbing out of the test AC, Thermidor looked down at him, his eyes burning with rage and spat a single sentence.

"How dare you."

Berlioz's frustration evaporated in the face of that glare, "What… What are you talking about?"

Thermidor pushed away from the wall, quickly bearing down on Berlioz, reversing the situation in an instant, "You think I don't know? You've been there during every one of my test runs and every time they've shut me down before I've finished the run! You have to be the one telling them to do it!"

Berlioz would have laughed if not for the immediate threat to his life he felt from Thermidor leering over him, "What?! What the hell do I have to gain from supposedly sabotaging your test runs?"

To his surprise, the man now backing him against a wall of his own already had an answer, "Because you can't stand the idea of me winning! I'm the only thing between you and that contract and you're so petty, you'd sink to the level of stabbing me in the back. All for money!? You make me sick!"

Equal parts confusion and fear flowed him as he no longer had any space to back into, Thermidor virtually on top of him with fist clenched.

Berlioz would fight him if it came down to it, but Thermidor had all the advantages, there was no way Berlioz walked away from this.

 _Is… Is this it? Is he really going to…?_

He saw Thermidor's shoulder tense as his arm began to draw back, but before either of them could go any further an amplified voice rang out, "Hey! You two, everything ok?"

They both turned to see two security staff looking at them about ten meters down the corridor, having rounded the corner from the nearby junction.

No one spoke, but Thermidor lent away from him, giving one last shot with his eyes before walking away in the opposite direction.

Berlioz let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding and sank down the wall, letting his legs give out as his whole body began shaking.

"Woah hey are you alright?" The security guards ran over to help, but he waved an uncertain hand at them.

"Yeah… Yeah I'm fine. Don't worry about me."

It was Thermidor he was worried about. If someone didn't stop him soon, he would do something he could never take back.

#####

15:10

09/02/2106

Berlioz was grateful for the strong air conditioning in the control room, the cold sweat he could feel starting was making his jumpsuit cling to him.

Through the large single pane window, he could see a vast expansive environment designed to simulate the ruined surface above them. It was in these arenas that Rayleonard ran the test programs, sending ACs out to fight.

After Thermidor's last outburst, he was suspended from testing. Today was both an evaluation of his condition as well as his last scheduled test. If he got through this without incident, he would likely be the one to win Rayleonard's contract.

 _That's a big if these days…_ With him, were the usual staff that would oversee the test run. As well as a sort of pseudo-Operator to direct each of the test pilots in the arena. The person with them that usually wasn't there, was a Miss Malinov. She was the one in charge of the entire facility, holding a very high position in AkvaVit and had regular contact with Victor.

She was likely here to make sure that if anything did go wrong, she was at least there to see it happen in person. There was little worse than vague second hand accounts of incidents that didn't add up.

Berlioz had specifically requested to view Thermidor's last test run, mostly out of concern for the other pilots. If his escalating violence continued in the same trend, there was every chance Thermidor would use this last run as an opportunity to get the lethal fight he'd been desiring.

Miss Malinov turned to a staff member on her left, "Are we ready? I can't waste any more time babysitting troublesome children."

Her opinion of Thermidor's recent behaviour was obviously something she freely aired. The staff member looked at his monitors before saying, "We're ready Ma'am."

She gave a nod to the three Operators over to one side of the control room, who all turned to the screens in front of them.

This test run was supposed to be simple, it was Thermidor in a test 03-AALIYAH frame against two former test pilots using a BFF 047AN frame and a Rosenthal TYPE-HOGIRE frame. There were no other complicating factors, it should be over in minutes.

The furthest left Operator spoke, "Test-1, confirm test start." There was a pause before Thermidor's voice came over the speaker system.

"Test-1 confirms." There was something wrong with his voice, he sounded… Excited. Like he was on the edge of his seat about something.

Berlioz pushed it to the back of his mind as the other two Operator's confirmed with their pilot's that they were ready to begin testing.

Another staff member spoke up now, "All pilots confirmed ready, board is green. Beginning test run in three… Two… One… Start!"

Through the window, he saw Thermidor's AC launch forwards, disappearing behind a large rock outcropping. A sensor display gave an overhead view of the arena, with the three AC's positions marked on it, along with separate monitors showing the status of each AC and their pilot.

 _Please… Please don't fuck this up, Thermidor…_

The sensor display showed that the BFF OPFOR AC was about to pass the control room's window, with Thermidor approaching rapidly. While the room was soundproofed and isolated, the deep resonance of the AC's weapon fire could be felt through the floor.

A moment later, the BFF AC passed into view, firing at an unseen target with its assault rifle. The strange thing was the lack of incoming fire. One of the test pilots, he assumed the one in the BFF AC shouted over the room speakers, "Christ what the hell!? Get away from me!"

In a flash he saw the events that were about to play out as Thermidor's AC entered their field of view. With a Rayleonard cut down machine gun in its left hand drawn back, the 03-AALIYAH lunged forwards, using the momentum to force the weapon into the 063AN's right arm joint, dislocating the limb before tearing it completely away.

The sound of shock rang in the room as several staff members stood up from their seats, recoiling away from the window. Thermidor's Operator was shouting at him to return to the safe engagement range, but to no avail.

"Someone stop him! God just stop him!" The pilot screamed as they desperately tried to fend Thermidor off.

Berlioz didn't want to do what Thermidor had original accused him of, but in this situation there was no other way. He yelled to the staff member closest to him, "Shut him down, shut Thermidor's AC down!"

The staff member nervously glanced at Miss Malinov, the second she nodded he turned and lifted the plastic cover over the large shutdown button.

 _Sorry Thermidor, but you blew it._

The button depressed under his finger, a loud alarm sounding to indicate that the test was being terminated.

Movement caught Berlioz's eye as he looked away from the staff member to see the 03-AALIYAH still moving.

"What? You pushed it, didn't you?"

The staff member was manically pushing it over and over but still Thermidor's AC drew it's arm back again.

"Please!" The pilot begged, "Don't do i-"

Thermidor moved with a single fluid motion.

He drove the broken machine gun straight through the BFF AC's core, the monitor displaying pilot status flared red before fading grey, the bio monitor showing flat lines on all readings.

Nobody said anything, except the now tearful Operator of Test-2, who repeatedly asked for the pilot's reply again and again. Thermidor's Operator slowly took off her headset and stepped away from the workstation, looking pale.

A deep growling voice rang out, it was Thermidor's but not like before.

"Target eliminated."

He wrenched the AALIYAH's arm to the side, ripping the splintered machine gun out of the BFF frame.

Red splattered across the window, chunks of the former pilot mixed in with the crimson mess that they all now stared at.

Someone screamed and fell backwards, everyone backed away from the window in horror.

"Why…" Muttered Miss Malinov, "Why didn't the shutdown work?" She looked distraught, everyone did. Berlioz's stomach was churning at the thought of it.

The Rosenthal AC rounded large boulder behind Thermidor and the destroyed BFF frame. It shot forwards, an assault rifle blazing away in its right hand and a lit laser blade burning from an emitter on its left wrist.

"You bastard!" Shouted the pilot, closing on Thermidor at full speed, "You goddamn murderer!"

But Thermidor's AC was already in motion, leaping into the air to avoid the rifle fire. He still had a Rayleonard assault rifle in his right hand.

As he descended, the Rosenthal AC took a wild swing to try and cleave Thermidor's AC's legs off, but the swing was too early. He brought the rifle down with all the momentum from the fall driving the weapon down onto the other AC's head.

The optical unit shattered into pieces but the weapon carried on, smashing through like a dull knife until it was embedded deep in the core.

Just like before, the pilot's vitals flat lined and the AC shut down just as all the lights and monitors flickered and died.

Berlioz looked around in the dark as the emergency chemical lighting slowly began to illuminate the room, people staring around in shock, some clutching onto desks, their seats or each other.

"What… What happened?" Berlioz asked Miss Malinov when he could see her. He couldn't see her face, as she was staring at the ground, he could see her shoulders shaking.

"Electro…" She began, a waiver in her voice, "Electromagnetic pulse, a failsafe should the remote shutdown fail to stop an AC."

As Berlioz's eyes adjusted to the lighting, the main lights blinked back on, blinding him slightly, Miss Malinov turned to a staff member next to her, "Get me a line to security, I want that pilot out of the AC and in here immediately!"

The reason their electronics were functional again was because they were shielded, meaning that they wouldn't be irreversibly damaged during the pulse. However the test ACs were specifically stripped of all their shielding, meaning that every centimetre of wiring and equipment in that frame would be fried beyond repair.

There was no threat of Thermidor's AC reactivating.

He'd done it. Thermidor achieved what he set out to do, to make someone fight with their life on the line. The price was two dead test pilots, two bodies to send home.

It was roughly ten minutes before four security guards dragged Thermidor into the control room, handcuffs locking his arms behind his back. The initial report from the engineers looking at Thermidor's test AC said that he had modified his AC so that it would no longer accept the remote shutdown command. Meaning that he had anticipated their intervention.

The control room staff had spent a little time trying to reorganise the room or console those who were still in shock over what happened.

Thermidor was expressionless until his gaze met Berlioz's. At that, rage flooded over his face, "You! I knew it! It was you all alo-"

He was cut short by Miss Malinov striking him with the butt of her sidearm, "Silence!" He glared at her unflinching as she continued, "I will not suffer a monster like yourself in my presence. You intentionally set out with the objective of killing, nothing less than murder will satisfy you." She looked to the guards, "Throw him in solitary, I'll contact the Ark and see what they want done with him."

His hateful stare fell back on Berlioz, an icy chill running over his skin as he spat, "Just you wait. One day, I will find you. I'll make you pay, when you least expect it!"


	4. Worth Everything Ever Wished For

Raven's Ark, Berlioz's Quarters

18:10

13/02/2106

Sighing with a smile on his face, Berlioz finally put the phone down. After being unable to speak to him for nearly three months, Alicia had managed to work a four hour phone call out of him to make up for the silence.

He'd quickly found out that AkvaVit's research facility had extremely limited external connections meaning that any calls outbound had to be relayed through a proxy base to keep the facility's location secure.

In turn, because Alicia wasn't military personnel, she wasn't able to reach him through the usual civilian to military channels.

He told her everything he was allowed to regarding the program, leaving out everything to do with Thermidor. There was no need for her to know anything about that man.

As soon as the Ark was informed of Thermidor's actions, he was immediately dismissed from the program and at the same time was stripped of his rank as a Raven and his AC Stasis was taken from him and decommissioned.

Thermidor would never pilot another AC again. Berlioz had no idea what would become of him, but the threat he made hung over his head regardless. He didn't think Thermidor to be a man that made such promises lightly.

Berlioz didn't know what the outcome of the test pilot program would be now that Thermidor had been dismissed. He wasn't certain, but he was fairly sure that he and Thermidor had been the two highest ranking test pilots. But Rayleonard had confirmed nothing so far, only sending him home to the Ark to await further news.

Looking around from his bed, it was refreshing to be back home. The spartan living quarters at the facility had made him miss even the small comforts of his own accommodation.

Perhaps the thing that hit the hardest was that having left for three months and now come back, there was no one waiting for him. People didn't know he'd gone anywhere.

It was a poisonous thought, one that he'd been unable to shake from his mind for the entire day no matter what.

 _If you disappeared, nobody here would miss you…_

Of course Alicia would, but who else? He had nobody here. Just a job and a bed. A lonely existence.

He was about to get up to see what was available for dinner when his phone rang. Picking it up, the caller ID was the administration department of the Raven's Ark.

Accepting the call he said, "Hello?"

A woman's voice came back, "Excuse me, Raven. I have someone calling from an external line trying to contact you?"

"Oh? Have they given a name?" He was trying to imagine who would be calling, but aside from Alicia, no names came to mind.

"They said their name was," She paused, likely reading it from somewhere, "Fiona Jarnefeldt?"

A lightning bolt shot through him. Of all people he never expected to see again, she was one of them. Yet apparently he was about to speak to her for the first time in nearly 6 years.

"Raven?"

Realising he'd fallen silent, he stammered slightly, "Uh, oh sorry yeah put them through please."

Anxiety kicked in. Why were they calling now of all times? Did they know something about the test program?

Fiona was one of his squad mates during his service in Rayleonard's Armed Forces. They'd both been MT pilots stationed near the ruins of Detroit. The fighting around that goddamn city never ended, it had briefly been a population centre of considerable size after the Great Destruction, but the smaller centres that sprung up around it quickly besieged it for the large wealth of mechanical foundries and production facilities that it possessed.

It eventually became a perpetual warzone. He didn't even know if those facilities were of any value anymore, all he knew is that the smaller factions in that area fought over it more out of pride and habit.

Not that the Corporations minded, they were more than happy to distribute any weapons and war machines that were demanded, with Rayleonard and Leonemeccanica having large investments in the Detroit conflict.

That was the reason for his and Fiona's deployment there. Several companies of Rayleonard's standing forces were stationed to keep an eye on things. On occasion one of the local factions would get the bright idea of trying to fight them.

Of course an armed militia was no match for a rigorously trained and well equipped force that was prepared for the fight.

The more hairy moments where when they'd run into Leonemeccanica's own forces. When the playing field was level, a lot of people died on both sides.

His train of thought was derailed by a different voice coming over the speaker.

"Hello? Berlioz, is that you?"

There was a second before his brain actually started functioning normally again, the cogs of his mind clunking into place.

"Yeah, it's me. It's… It's been awhile huh?" As much as his social skills had almost completely evaporated, he was entirely caught off guard when he thought he heard her begin to cry.

His suspicion was confirmed when she struggled to say, "Oh thank god, I was getting real worried…"

Berlioz raised an eyebrow at that, sitting up from the bed and perching on the edge, "Worried? What about?"

There was about a second before a frustrated reply came back, "Did you hit your head? What do you th- No never mind that! How've you been? It really has been too damn long!"

Berlioz let out a sigh, unable to stop grinning at the fact that someone had gone out of their way to call him with no prompting on his part. "Wow, where do I start," he began, "Well I guess to start with I just got back from a three month job with Rayleonard."

"Three months?!" she almost shouted, "What the hell were you doing for them?" Berlioz laughed at that.

"It's kinda confidential, but the gist of it is that they needed long term research data and needed us on site to provide it when needed. I literally got back on the Ark a few hours ago so it'll likely be an early night for me."

He stood up, walking over to the sofa in the other room and slumping down onto it, "Aside from that, it's been the same thing day in day out really. I take a job, do what needs to be done and come home. Nothing else to it really, not something people want discussed in polite company so I usually don't bring it up."

Berlioz wasn't about to admit that he had literally no one to bring it up around but he hoped that Fiona didn't find out about that.

"Anyways," he needed to divert the topic of conversation away from himself, "What about you? You can't still be in the military can you?"

"Wha? No no! God no I left years ago, not too long after you actually. I couldn't stomach the killing anymore."

That was somewhat of a relief, he listened as she continued.

"I did some volunteer work for Rosenthal for a couple of years, travelling between warzones to help refugees escape the battles."

Berlioz visibly winced at that. Someone else saving lives while he was so busy ending them.

He was thankful this was a phone conversation and not in person as she carried on, "It was hard, but I'm glad I did it. I spent the last year wondering what the hell to do with my life until I remembered that you'd gone on to join the Ravens."

"Wait you're becoming a Raven? I thought you left the military because you couldn't stand the killing?"

"No, I'm not becoming a Raven, I've almost finished the training program to become an Operator!" She said excitedly.

"Oh shit! Congrats! How long until you finish?" The possibility of having Fiona as a mission Operator was something he genuinely looked forward to. She'd usually been the first to spot trouble and was a valued second pair of eyes during reconnaissance missions back in Detroit. Anyone working under her guidance would be in good hands.

"Only a couple of weeks I think? It's just a handful of exams to do and then I'm waiting on results." She sounded happy, like she'd found something that'd let her help people without a gun in her hands.

He felt a twinge of jealously that he smothered the moment it surfaced. No need for bitterness when someone else succeeded, he was sure there were plenty of people that looked at him in the same way when he reached the S-Ranks.

"Damn! I'm sure that you'll do fine, no way they'll turn you away."

She laughed, "Thanks man, I appreciate it. It's so strange to hear your voice again, I got worried after all these years that I'd have lost a friend without even knowing that they were gone."

"This again?" He started, "What is there to worry about?" Apparently that was the wrong thing to say.

"Berlioz, you don't get it do you? Just because you've managed to survive this long doesn't mean your luck and skill will keep you alive forever. I was worried that I'd call and find that you'd died alone on some battlefield. Nothing left to remember you by but a name on a list. That's not what I'd want for you."

He had nothing to say to that. The same fear ran through Alicia's mind every say he went out. So many worried that he'd die forgotten. The fate of so many Ravens who never came home.

"For now," He said quietly, "I'm still breathing, right? I don't plan on dying any time soon, I'm not going anywhere."

"Well once I'm an Operator you'll be forbidden from dying on my watch, you got that?" She said with a defiant tone, like she was already giving him orders. The role certainly suited her.

"Alright, I'll take that," Berlioz said with a small grin spreading on his face, "If you're my Operator, I promise that I won't die. We'll see ourselves through all the fighting, all the wars and all the battles and come out the other side. How about that?"

"Alright mister, I'll hold you to that. I don't forget a promise."

It was nice to remember that there were people that cared about him, perhaps he wasn't as alone as he feared.

"Hey," Fiona started, "I'll be heading down to the Ark soon if I pass the exams. We should grab some drinks and catch up better when you're more settled in after your stint with Rayleonard. How does that sound?"

To Berlioz, the idea of having someone to go out with for drinks was one he wished he could have more often. "I'd love that, I'll be sure to try and keep my schedule free." He said, unable to stop grinning.

"You do that, I've gotta go now but you keep breathing and stay alive, you hear me?"

"Don't worry, I'll be fine. You go have fun doing whatever you gotta do."

"Will do, see ya!" With that, the call ended, with Berlioz putting the phone on his bedside cabinet.

It was starting to get late and he wanted to grab something to eat before crashing for the day. Deciding to leave his phone, he walked out of his quarters and started heading for the cafeteria, the fact he was still in his tracksuits didn't bother him. Ravens weren't usually judged on their attire.

However, when he arrived at the cafeteria, he found that there had been a kitchen fire the day before and it was closed for repair. The notice on the door said to head to a secondary café that had been setup on the floor two levels up.

At that, he turned around, heading back the way he came as he'd passed the central elevator already to his slight annoyance. As impossible as it was, he wished that somebody had been around to tell him when he arrived back.

Something he certainly didn't mind was getting another chance to look through the Ark's enormous exterior windows that were currently giving him a view of the setting Sun as it lit up the sky with crimson and gold rays, the clouds glowing in the evening light.

All things would eventually come to an end, but he hoped that the Ark at least would last as long as possible. If it didn't he wouldn't be able to see the world like this anymore.

Eventually he had to make his way deeper into the Ark, leaving the outside behind him. It wasn't a particularly long walk but after being able to admire the sky, the cold Ark interior did nothing to help pass the time.

As he rounded the last corner with the elevator in sight, someone walked into it, the door beginning to close behind them. "Hey!" He shouted, breaking into a sprint down the corridor, "Wait! Hold that! Please!"

Thankfully, the other person was kind enough to hold the elevator door with their hand as he ran in, doubling over to catch his breath after the sudden exertion.

"Thanks… Thanks for that, uhhh…" He looked up at them, quickly realising that he had no idea who they were. They were a woman with long brown hair and vibrant green eyes, wearing a Raven's jumpsuit.

 _Oh she's a Raven? All I need to do is read her patch an-_

As his eyes caught her patch, he stopped breathing. The realisation of who exactly was standing in front of him set in. A cold sweat breaking out on his face as he looked back up at her face, straightening up.

Her name was Wynne D. Fanchon, the S-Rank 1 Raven and pilot of the Armored Core Reiterpallasch.

He had just stepped into an elevator with the Ninebreaker, the most powerful mercenary on the planet and he had been ignorant enough to ask her to hold a door open for him.

If the universe had ceased to exist at that very moment, Berlioz would have been grateful to it for sparing him from this moment of horror that he'd unwittingly stumbled into.

"It's no trouble. You're Berlioz, aren't you?" She said it so calmly it was almost like they could be regular people meeting in an elevator.

"Uh," he was still reeling, "Yeah, that's me." Unable to think of anything else constructive to say, he went with the most obvious. "How'd you know my name?"

"I was there when you came back to your S-Rank 5 announcement. I was told in advance that Julius had been demoted and that their replacement was inbound. Figured I'd check out the competition. Oh, I guess I should congratulate you on reaching S-Rank 4 as well."

A multitude of questions sprung to mind but Berlioz decided to stick with the more immediate thought following what she said.

"Wait, S-Rank 4? How could th- Oh, of course…" He'd forgotten that with Thermidor's expulsion from the Raven's Ark, his position of S-Rank 2 was immediately filled by the S-Rank 3 Raven. Everyone got an automatic promotion due to this.

On to the next, "You said competition? I'm not being funny but since when did we become opponents?"

At this point the elevator reached their destination, without breaking flow the two of them exited, both heading for the secondary café.

"Sorry," she said, looking away slightly, "Maximilian and Unseel were incessantly trying to fight me, like it was their life's calling to take me down. Maximilian was particularly bad, I felt like he had something to prove. Second best wasn't enough for him."

Perhaps that was the case, but from what Berlioz saw, it was more that Thermidor was desperately seeking a fight that would challenge and excite him. A battle with the Ninebreaker would be exactly what he'd be looking for.

He'd never get that now, Thermidor would go the rest of his life being unable to fight the Ninebreaker. Not that Berlioz had much sympathy for him.

Choosing to try and set himself apart, he said "You don't have to worry about me, I'm not after your position. I just ended up here before I knew it."

At that she gave a small laugh, "You accidentally made your way into the S-Ranks? That actually worries me more. Who knows what else you could do by accident."

Berlioz could do little more than give a nervous chuckle as they entered the café. It was packed, due to not being designed to accommodate the entire Raven's Ark population descending on it at once.

"Well, that's slightly inconvenient." Said Wynne with a long sigh following it. She stared at the queue with one hand on her hip, looking like she was trying to decide what the best option was.

Berlioz was about to suggest at least lining up before the queue got any longer, when she just said, "Fuck this," before turning around and walking out again.

"Huh? Wait what? Where are you going?" Berlioz asked, desperately trying to choose between lining up himself or following Wynne wherever she was now going.

She didn't look at him before answering, "There's a vending machine about a hundred metres from here around the corner. I don't have time to wait today." With that she left him standing there.

Choosing to follow, he rushed after her, quickly catching up, "Got plans or something?" Figuring it had to be something that she couldn't delay or skip.

"Leonemeccanica need some work done, it's not a job I can turn down." She said, suddenly looking despondent.

"If I can ask," Berlioz started, feeling hesitant that he was overstepping his bounds, "What's the job?"

Her face was flat as she answered, looking at the ground ahead of her, "Wet work. The usual dirt we stain ourselves with. Someone in an independent faction has been causing trouble for Leonemeccanica, they want him removed."

Berlioz could empathise with her to a degree, but the difference was that if it was Leonemeccanica giving the orders, she couldn't refuse. The typical stipulation on a Corporation's exclusive contract was that direct missions couldn't be refused, regardless of their content. This was usually due to the very large bonuses and rewards that come as part of the contract.

Ravens in an exclusive contract enjoyed many things given to them, but they lost an element of their independence in the process. It was something that many Ravens thought about, even if they weren't eligible for an exclusive contract.

They reached the vending machine, with Wynne picking a sandwich and a packet of crisps before turning to Berlioz, "Did you want anything?" She asked.

"Uh," He didn't know what to say, "I'm… I'll just have some crisps, thanks. I can grab someone thing else later."

She punched in the short code for the bag of crisps and handed it to him, "Here," she said as she opened her own sandwich.

Standing there in that moment, Berlioz and Wynne enjoyed a quiet meal.

#####

Berlioz was walking back to his apartment when he noticed a woman approaching his door just as he rounded the corner.

"Excuse me?" He said as he got closer, "Can I he-" As he began, she turned around and he immediately recognised who it was.

"Vivian?" He was surprised to see her, considering he thought their last encounter was months ago now. She smiled and gave a slight wave.

"Good evening Berlioz, I'm sorry for visiting so late."

"No no, that's totally fine, are you here on business?"

He was asking out of sheer curiosity but when she raised an eye brow and said, "Do you think I make a habit of dropping in on Ravens unannounced for any other reason?" Berlioz realised that his words could have implied something very different.

"God no! Sorry, no I didn't mean that." He desperately tried to climb out of the hole he'd managed to dig for himself.

Thankfully she smiled and brushed it off, "Not to worry, I do have business with you however, may I come in?"

"Of course," he said, inputting the door code, "Please," he gestured inside and followed her in, the door sliding closed with a quiet hiss.

"Is Mr. Kingshott not here today?" Realising that the man who had been with her last time she visited him.

"He's dead," she answered flatly, "Somewhere outside of the former city of Pittsburgh."

It took Berlioz a second actually process what he had heard before saying, "Oh… Wait what? What happened to him?"

Giving a weak shrug, Vivian answered, "What happens to any solider in the line of duty; killed in action, serving Rayleonard."

"I see, I'm sorry." Berlioz didn't really know what else to say. He sat down in his armchair as Vivian took a seat on the sofa.

"Its part of life these days, I'm sure someone in your line of work understands that?" She looked somewhat weary as she said this, like she was tired of having to understand. He could certainly relate to that in ways.

He nodded, staring at the small table between them. Her sudden change back to her usual tone shocked him slightly as she started speaking again.

"Now, back to business. I have some good news for you, Berlioz." She pulled out a black envelope and handed it to him.

Turning it over, he saw that it was completely plain except for the red Rayleonard symbol emblazoned in red in the top right-hand corner. Opening it, he found a very plain, printed letter addressed to him.

It read.

 _Dear Mr. Berlioz Lamond,_

 _I would like to personally congratulate you on being the sole candidate of the Rayleonard/AkvaVit Pilot Testing Program. Your outstanding capabilities in the use of the 03-AALIYAH Armored Core frame have proven that you are the Raven that Rayleonard needs._

 _As promised, an exclusive contract with Rayleonard has been written up and should be given to you once you have finished reading this letter._

 _I look forward to seeing you in person and working closely with you in the near future._

 _Victor Rayleonard, CEO_

Exactly as the letter said, the moment he looked up from reading, Vivian had another envelope held out to him. This one was brown with a hatched black and red border around the edge, marking it as official corporate paperwork belonging to Rayleonard.

Taking it gingerly, he opened it and took out the single piece of paper, unfolding it and beginning to read.

 _To Mr. Berlioz Lamond, Raven,_

 _As of the 20_ _th_ _of February 2106 you are officially signed as an exclusive Raven to the control of the_ _Rayleonard_ _Corporation._

 _The terms of your contract are as follows:_

 _This contract is valid for a period of five (5) years. Any extension of the contract is to be agreed on by both parties as well as verified by the Raven's Ark._

 _Any mission request given to you by the contract holder is to be accepted with no questions asked. Should the Raven under this contract feel that the request given falls outside the limits of their morals, they may appeal to the Raven's Ark to have the request examined for any ethical breaches._

 _Should the Raven's ranking fall below S-Rank 5 or the agreed minimum ranking, their contract is considered null and void. The agreed penalty fee for this contract is fifty million credits (50,000,000), to be paid immediately should the condition for this penalty be met._

 _Should the contract holder believe that the Raven is operating outside of acceptable limits either professionally or privately, the contract holder retains the right to dismiss the Raven, thereby rendering the contract void and incurring the agreed penalty._

 _As part of this contract, the contract holder has agreed to and is obligated to give you:_

 _A minimum of one direct mission per week with a minimum five hundred thousand (500,000) credit reward. Total gross income per month must reach five million (5,000,000) credits minimum._

 _Suitable private accommodation for the Raven and any close family to be provided free of charge. All amenities and services are to be provided free of charge._

 _All repair and refit costs incurred during missions are to be discounted by fifty percent (50%)._

 _All medical, educational and social costs are to be provided free of charge._

 _These terms are verified and signed by the official office of_ _Rayleonard_ _and the Raven's Ark._

 _Signed Raven:_

 _Signed Contract Holder:_ _Victor Rayleonard_

 _Signed 3_ _rd_ _Party:_ _Desmond Archambault_

He sat and read over the contract again, staring in disbelief that this was actually happening. In front of him was an exclusive contract which unmistakably had his name at the top. However, what was strange was the date mentioned in the first paragraph.

"Um," he started, looking back up at Vivian, "The date on this seems to be wrong? It says the 20th, but today is the 13th?"

She shook her head, "No actually that's correct. The test program was originally scheduled finish on the 19th, with the contract signing occurring the next day on the 20th. When Maximilian Thermidor was dismissed, you remained the only candidate that passed and exceeded his expectations."

She reached into her blazer and pulled out yet another envelope, this one was cream coloured and ornately decorated with inlaid gold patterns swirling across the surface.

As he took it, Berlioz muttered, "I think this is the most mail I've gotten in the last few months."

Feeling obligated to open this one more carefully just because of how fancy it looked, he slowly peeled the seal open and pulled out the heavy near card thickness letter from inside. The paper was as intricately designed as the envelope that held it with more gold patterns flowing from corner to corner around the border.

The text was handwritten in a flawless cursive that looked almost printed at first.

It read.

 _To Mr. Berlioz Lamond,_

 _I would like to personally extend an invitation to an event hosted by Rayleonard to congratulate your exclusive contract signing._

 _It will be held tomorrow at the Hugh Gilson Hall at 7:30pm. It is a black tie event, as such you will be expected to meet the dress code. However should you lack the appropriate attire, it will be provided for you._

 _A plane will be waiting for you at 10:00am, please be ready then._

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Victor Rayleonard, CEO_

"All I need," said Vivian as he closed the letter, "Is a verbal confirmation for the time being that you will accept both the contract and the invitation."

Staring at the letter, all he could think of was how this would help his family. What was left of it was the most important thing to him. If he could provide a better life for her, he would do anything to achieve that.

Berlioz handed her the letter, and said with no hesitation, "I accept the contract, I'll be Rayleonard's Raven."


	5. A Wish Full of Dreams

Raven's Ark, Berlioz's Quarters

09:30

14/02/2106

Assuming that his formal wear would be provided on site, Berlioz assumed it would be acceptable for him to at least travel in his jumpsuit, considering the fact that he owned virtually nothing aside from plain t-shirts, tracksuits, hoodies and his standard issue jumpsuits.

It wasn't like he went anywhere so the need to actually buy anything different seemed irrelevant to him.

He tucked the letter his sister had sent him into the bedside cabinet before walking out of the door, making his way to the Hangar. Nobody had come to collect him this time, but that was fine as he at least knew where to go and what to look for, assuming that the same style of plane would be used.

The Ark's corridors were a hive of activity with people going to and from floors, some carrying paperwork, others with boxes of tools as they headed off to one of the many ongoing maintenance projects that kept the Ark afloat in the sky.

Thankfully, he was able to make it all the way to the Hangar without being waylaid by anyone and had a reasonable amount of time to spare.

He'd made the wise decision of going to bed soon after Vivian had left the night before and woke up early enough that he could have a decent breakfast, figuring it could be the only adequate meal he got for the next twelve hours or so.

Not knowing the exact plan for whatever event Victor was hosting meant he had to try and prepare in whatever ways came to mind.

Just as he expected, he could see the same private jet sitting near the exit of the Hangar, ready to begin taxiing. Berlioz strode across the Hanger deck, reaching the jet and walking up the retractable stairway into the passenger lounge.

The moment he sat down, the pilot's voice rang out from the small speaker system installed in the lounge, "Mr. Berlioz? We'll be leaving in roughly five minutes. Estimated flight time is three hours. Please enjoy the flight."

Not knowing if the pilot could hear him, he sat in a somewhat awkward silence until the plane began to move. Slowly at first, but it rumbled outside and turned onto the runway, its engines flaring to life.

A minute later, likely after the pilot had cleared with the Ark's ATC, the roar of the engine's afterburners maxing out filled his head, the vibrations shaking him to the bone.

The jet bounced down the runway in a flash, lifting into the air before it cleared the end of the strip.

It banked hard to the left, before pulling back and burning into the sky.

#####

Having actually managed a good night's rest, Berlioz didn't fall asleep during the flight. He sat by the window staring out at the passing clouds as they passed by.

The inflight entertainment was comprised of several post-Destruction shows. Media created by the Corporations with the intent on pacifying members of the population who were perhaps undecided on their political actions.

It lacked humanity, to put it one way. Berlioz had spent a considerable amount of time collecting and restoring films, television and music from before the Great Destruction, or even from before he was born.

Somewhere out there, in the scorched wasteland, thousands of lives and emotions were recorded with the intention of being shared.

They were still in the air at this point, looking at the ground out of the window, he saw that same white flecked forest below him as when they'd travelled to the Rayleonard/AkvaVit testing range.

The Hugh Gilson Hall wasn't a secret as it was available to the public, if they could afford it, but the fact that they were at least in a similar area, meant that the range was somewhere underneath the former Canadian tundra.

Although he was sure that they were in almost the same place, the recent winter had brought heavier snow than usual as the white matched, if not exceeded, the vibrant evergreen trees below.

He could feel his insides shift as the plane began to descend, dropping gently though a thin mist of cloud.

"Mr Berlioz, we're beginning our approach now. There will be a vehicle waiting for you when we land."

Once again he was silent as he was unsure if he'd just be talking to himself. Choosing to simply sit in silence, watching the ground grow closer and closer.

He couldn't see the runway from where he was, but before long the trees suddenly cut off as they now cruised low over a wide open expanse, likely cut for the specific reason of building the airstrip here. The runway to the testing range had been exactly the same, but not as large so as to be less obvious.

There was a jolt as the wheels touched down, Berlioz noticing the uneven vibrations and bumps as they slowed down, indicating that this wasn't a tarmacked strip. This was likely a makeshift airstrip used infrequently at best.

After a minute of deceleration and taxiing, the jet came to a halt and the stairway ramp lowered behind Berlioz. The pilot said, "Enjoy the event Mr. Berlioz."

Deciding to at least try before he left, Berlioz said, "Thank you for the flight!" The lack of reply either confirmed his earlier suspicions or the pilot just flat out ignored him for whatever reason.

Stepping out onto the short grass, he saw that just as the pilot had said, there was a large black car waiting for him, a man appearing to be a butler of sorts standing by the rear door.

Berlioz wished he had a little time to admire the scenery but he didn't want to keep this person standing around so he hurriedly strode over.

"Mr. Berlioz, please." The man opened the car door and gestured with a smooth hand motion inside the car.

He wordlessly climbed in, the door being shut immediately the moment he was inside. Pulling the seatbelt across his chest and into the clasp, he looked around the interior of the car. It was all black with red accents, leather and chrome could also be found on the inside of the door and the seat frames in front of him.

Apparently Rayleonard liked to make sure that people knew who was taking care of them, especially considering the fact that the seat was almost as comfortable as the one on the plane.

As they began moving, Berlioz lent forward just slightly, asking the driver, "Is it a long drive?" Checking the time, it was just past one in the afternoon, the letter had stated that the event wouldn't start for another six hours.

The driver answered without taking his eyes off the road, "It is only a short journey, Sir. I estimate we should be there before one thirty. A light lunch has been prepared for you as food will be available during Mr. Rayleonard's event."

"Um, thank you." Said Berlioz quietly as he lent back into the seat. He felt bad now for assuming that he wouldn't be fed. From the looks of it, he wasn't going to have to worry about things like that for much longer.

Staring out the window, he thought about how his life was going to so drastically change in the next few weeks. As much as it was going to affect him, several of the bonuses would also benefit Alicia.

Rayleonard stated that all educational costs would be covered, but he had no use for that, so he'd ask if it covered close family in the same way that the housing included them.

That alone was still sinking in, that for the first time in nearly a decade, he'd be able to live under the same roof as his sister.

A part of him resented himself for making the choice to join the military, another part was terrified that she also hated him for leaving her behind.

At the time, he didn't feel like he had a choice, not really anyway. The uncle that had been looking after them fell ill and then passed away when he was seventeen. Alicia, wasn't even ten at the time and wasn't able to be left on her own.

They were moved from their uncle's place and put in a temporary home for orphaned children. However the system would only hold them for thirty days, after that they'd be on their own with no one to turn to.

When there was less than a week left on their deadline, Berlioz did the only thing he could think of, quitting school and signing up with Rayleonard's military forces under a false name. They promised to find Alicia a foster family as soon as possible and also ensured that he had easy means of contacting her.

Thinking back, maybe there could have been a better way, but at the time no alternative presented itself.

He'd been traveling from frontline to frontline, battlefield to battlefield for years now. His hope was that one day he'd be able to come home from all the fighting and the killing. To go home and never have to take another life.

That hope still burned bright in him, through everything he could still keep moving forwards for that.

"We've arrived, Sir. Someone will be waiting to greet you at the door."

The driver's voice snapped Berlioz out of his thoughts, having not realised the car had even come to a complete halt in the time being.

He opened the door, saying "Thank you very much", before closing it and walking towards the enormous building.

The colossal manor house before him stretched across his vision, making him turn his head to see each end. The path he was walking on was a perfectly level gravel walkway that he almost felt guilty for disrupting it.

A six foot tall trimmed hedge encircled the entire building, wrapping around each side where he couldn't see. Before the split stairway up to the front porch and the white oak doors was an ornate carved marble fountain well over twice his height and around twenty five feet wide.

It was as if he could smell the vast amount of money spent on the grounds, he hadn't even taken into consideration the building itself.

Grandiose would be putting it lightly. During the flight, Berlioz had taken the time to do a little research on the venue. The Hugh Gilson Hall was privately owned by Victor Rayleonard himself, who leased it out to other members of the rich and powerful for their own use.

He was still having trouble considering himself part of that particular group but for all intents and purposes, it appeared that Victor was set on bringing him into that world whether he liked it or not. Not that Berlioz was going to complain at this rate.

Taking the right-side stairway up to the door, he never had the chance to even approach the massive white entrance before it opened with only the sound of the handle turning.

Another man wearing an identical uniform as the driver stepped out, opening the door wide and giving a slight bow, raising an arm to indicate that Berlioz should enter.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Berlioz. Please, allow me to welcome you to the Hugh Gilson Hall. If you would like to follow me, I have been instructed to ensure that you have eaten before the event this evening."

Berlioz had to stand in silence for a second before he could construct a response, "Oh, uh thank you very much."

The hall staff member waited until Berlioz was about to step through the door before he straightened up and walked ahead.

#####

After the meal, he was taken to see Victor's personal tailor who measured him and then over the course of several hours adjusted an expensive looking tuxedo for him to wear in the evening.

The entire experience had been, strange. In that, many of the staff in the Hall seemed almost excited to see him, asking so many questions about him and his work and how much he was looking forward to working for Rayleonard.

Then there were the others who silently worked around him, occasionally he'd catch them giving him a sad or despondent look that he didn't quite understand. Was there something he'd done?

It was roughly six in the afternoon now, with only an hour and a half left before the event started and the other guests arrived.

Apparently at an event like this, it was customary to have a little makeup applied so that you looked literally as perfect as absolutely possible. He supposed that when mingling with the most powerful people in the world, you had to make the effort to look your best.

He was led to a relatively large room lined with mirrors, lights and chairs. If you had thrown in a few hair clippers and scissors, you could have passed it off as a hairdresser's salon.

However, the countertop under the mirror was an assortment of powders, brushes and tiny coloured bottles.

A woman wearing a white shirt and an open black waistcoat was waiting for him. She had short cut brown hair and a pair of rimless glasses sat high on the bridge of her nose. What shocked him most was how young she looked. There was no way she was older than Alicia at least.

"Please, take a seat." She waved her hand towards the seat she was standing next to, looking somewhat nervous.

He walked over, saying as he took a seat, "That makes a welcome change." As he saw her in the mirror, Berlioz realised she had a somewhat puzzled expression on her face as she looked at him.

Quickly shaking his hand dismissively, he clarified, "No, I mean I've spent all day being welcomed by name, by people I've never met before in my life. You're the first person here to spare me that strange experience."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said quietly, "I don't actually know who you are. I was just told that I'd be preparing several guests for the event tonight. They didn't give me any details."

He smiled, trying his best to put her at ease, "Well, let's start with the easy stuff, what's your name?"

She paused before returning the smile, putting a large black gown over his front and tying it at the back of his neck.

"My name is Nicole." As she said this she pulled a pair of scissors from a small pouch on the back of her waist, hanging from a thin belt. "I was also told to give you a quick tidy up as according to dress code you could be described as… How did they say it? Scruffy?"

Berlioz had to chuckle at that, it wasn't like he took a phenomenal amount of effort in his personal appearance and his last trip to the barbers on the Ark was at least two months ago.

"Well, Nicole," he started, "I leave myself in your capable hands then." Leaning into the seat he let her get started.

However, the usual feeling of hands moving through hair and water being sprayed never came, Nicole just stood looking expectantly at him.

"You know," she said a slight grin on her face, "When someone gives you their name, you give yours back?"

He realised she was entirely right, grinning back at her, "My name is Berlioz, it's a pleasure to meet you Nicole."

"Ber… Berlioz? That's an interesting name." She mused as she started combing through his hair with her hands. It was a nice feeling, different to the efficient and almost mechanical hands of the Ark barbers.

He laughed a little, "Funny you should say that, it's French, just like your name." She didn't break flow as she spoke to him, beginning to spray a little water on him from a small bottle in another pouch on her belt.

"I've never looked into my name so it wouldn't occur to me," she hesitated for a second before saying, "I don't mean to be rude, but you don't look European?"

"Not many people have the gall to question it, I'll give you that." He wasn't bothered at all as it wasn't something he'd had to deal with, but she flinched at his words.

"Uh, oh I'm really sorry I sh-"

"No no it's fine really, my father was Japanese but my mother was French. They met during one of my Father's business trips to Europe and he eventually moved out there to live with her. He took on her last name when they married and she picked my name."

Berlioz shifted in his seat slightly as she said, "Where are your parents now? Do they work for the Corporations?"

He broke eye contact, "No. They didn't survive the Great Destruction. I was twelve at the time, my uncle cared for me until he passed away when I was seventeen."

She looked visibly uncomfortable when he looked back, like she didn't quite realise what she had asked. He didn't realise either, not expecting to be so honest with a complete stranger.

"God, I'm really sorry I didn't mean to pry…" The remorse was audible in her words as Berlioz did his best to shake his head without disturbing her.

He had to convince her that she wasn't in the wrong, "I'm the one that decided to tell you," he said, trying to sound as calm as possible, "You didn't force me to answer, did you?"

"No, I suppose…" she drifted off, choosing to focus on finishing his hair. Just like she said, it wasn't that much of a cut, just neatening up the more outgrown parts that had gotten out of hand somewhat.

She pulled the gown from him, shaking it down away from him and using a fine-haired brush, she brushed away any loose hairs around the back of his neck that had managed to get under the thin fabric.

Turning him to one side, still in the chair, she pulled up a stool next to him and began pulling nail files, small pots of water, metal tools and a large coloured block of what looked like foam. This was going to be a new experience.

However, the moment she held his right hand and was about to put it into the pot of warm water, she stopped and muttered, "Woah, shit."

"What's wrong?" Berlioz asked, suddenly concerned that something was wrong with his hands and he somehow managed to not notice the whole time.

Nicole shook her head, "Nothing's wrong, it's just… It's just I've never seen hands as worn as yours. I could almost say your calluses have calluses, it's unreal. Just what have you been doing to them?"

She looked at him with genuine concern, at which Berlioz could only sigh before answering her, bracing himself for the potential questioning that could follow. "I have to spend a lot of time holding things very tightly, it's part of my job."

"Not something you want to talk about?"

"It's more something that some people consider unsavoury, unpleasant conversation. They don't like think about it happening, like it's a dirty subject between people that shouldn't need to discuss it." He was dancing around the subject but he was trying to leave it up to here as to whether or not she wanted to know.

She looked at him, unflinching, "Do I seem like one of those people?" If pressed for an answer he would have given a maybe, but he could tell she was trying her best to not seem judgemental. He'd give her the benefit of the doubt.

"No, you don't." He sighed before answering, "I used to be a soldier for Rayleonard, but now I'm a Raven. I got those calluses from years of holding a rifle or the controls of an Armored Core. I kill people for money. My hands are uncomfortable and rough because the work I do is uncomfortable and rough. You can imagine why people don't like to talk about it."

He didn't want to look at her face, but to his surprise she asked, "Why do you do something you hate so much?"

Berlioz looked at her confused, "I don't remember saying I hate it?" She'd put his fingers in the water as he spoke.

"Do you really think you sound like someone who loves their job? You don't need to say it with plain words. Your voice, the way you talk about it, even how you move when you mention it, everything screams, 'I hate this'."

She continued, removing his hand from the water after a few minutes, beginning to use a thin metal tool to push his cuticles back, "It wouldn't make any sense for you to just keep working as a Raven for no reason. I think you're doing it for something else, something else keeps you there."

 _You're more perceptive than I originally thought…_ Thought Berlioz as she moved onto soaking his left hand as she continued working on the right.

She carried on talking, "You know, I've never met a Raven in person before. I don't really know what I expected, perhaps some kind of brutish person that loved violence considering Ravens are all volunteers, but you…"

Berlioz was surprised when she actually stopped, setting the tool aside on a small tray as she looked at him.

She said, with a slight waiver in her voice, "Can I ask, how long you've been doing this? I mean… Just…"

"Next month it'll be ten years. I've been fighting for ten years now."

He wanted to smile down at her, but instead he got the feeling he looked pathetic as her face dropped. Berlioz couldn't tell if she was despondent or horrified. Perhaps both.

"That's... I'm only seventeen. That's more than half of my life, and you spent it killing people."

"I was your age when I signed up. Damn that makes me feel old all of a sudden." He chuckled slightly, trying to bring the mood between them up again.

"Wait," Nicole cocked her head at him, "I thought the minimum age was eighteen to join a Corporation's armed forces?"

A weak smirk flashed across Berlioz's face, "I was desperate. I didn't have any other choice so I lied."

At this point, she'd finished pushing the cuticles on both hands and was now using the file to shape them, "I guess I was right, aren't I? None of this is for you, you're doing this for someone else."

He didn't answer, just smirking as he looked away. There wasn't a chance in hell he'd tell a complete stranger about Alicia. That was something he would hold to himself until the day he could step off the battlefield.

Silence fell between them as she finished up the filing and began buffing with the blue and pink foam block that turned out to be a lot more solid that its appearance let on.

"Well," said Nicole as she finished buffing, "I hope that all of your hard work pays off in the end. I think it'd be tragic if you never got to see the result of it all."

Berlioz laughed, "Tragic? That wouldn't be the half of it. That would suck, wouldn't it? To have everything amount to nothing… That's probably one of my greatest fears. That one day I'll just die forgotten somewhere, with nothing but a shallow, unmarked grave like so many. No pride to show, no name to be known."

His voice was low now, "It's something I have to take into consideration every time I go out. Will I come back? A small voice in my head is telling me that there's always a chance that I won't. Every time I sit in that cockpit and hold those controls, death could be just around the corner waiting for me."

She had started to apply a foundation to his face, lightly swabbing his face with a light brush, "I think," she began, "That if you've managed to stay alive for the last ten years, you'll make it no matter what. Whoever you're fighting for, I don't think anyone will be able to stop if you fight with their strength behind you."

"Fight with someone else's strength huh?" He thought on that, it made sense in his head at least. To fight for someone else is to fight with their will and resolve at your back, pushing your forwards when your own body can't take that next step.

If he ever found himself in that situation, would he have Alicia's strength at his side? He liked to think so.

Before he knew it, Nicole was finished. She let him inspect himself in the mirror in front of them, with a small hand mirror so he could see the work she'd done to the hair on the back of his head.

Everything she'd done was subtle, a slight improvement and polish of the ordinary. Nothing stood out but that was the point, to simply perfect his imperfections. At least that was all she could do with the physical ones, the talk with her had made very clear the imperfections that blemished his heart and soul.

"Thank you, Nicole, I appreciate it. You've done a wonderful job. I'm sure I'll fit in slightly better thanks to your work." He really meant it, at least this was something that would complete the image that he was supposed to give during this event.

She gave a wide smile and pulled him slightly away from the countertop and mirror, letting him stand up, "It was my pleasure Berlioz, I hope I get to meet you again one day, maybe when you're finally free of doing what you hate. When you don't have to put yourself through hell for whoever it is. I'm sure that, even if they don't know you're doing it for them, that they appreciate everything you do for them and that they would do the same for you."

"Aren't you coming to the event as well?" Berlioz asked, thinking that she'd be invited due to all the help she'd given to Rayleonard preparing guests.

She shook her head, looking somewhat solemn, "Unfortunately not, someone like me wouldn't be invited to an event like that."

"Hey, if someone like me," he said pointing to himself, "Can get invited, I think you surely will one day."

He turned around before he walked out the door, "Thank you again, I'm sure we'll bump into each other again."

"I really hope so, Berlioz," she said as he walked out of the room.

#####

Almost immediately after his session with Nicole, Berlioz taken to another room to be dressed and to have the finishing touches added like custom cufflinks and for his shoes to be polished one last time.

He was then told that he was supposed to arrive with the rest of the guests and in what he saw as a truly bizarre and unnecessary act, was led out of the rear of the building into a car similar to the one he arrived in.

The car pulled away from the manor house out of a metal gate, turning onto a dirt road that led through a thick forest that had grown nearby. However they quickly turned back onto the same road that Berlioz had arrived on hours early, only this time they had neatly joined a slow moving convoy of equally expensive looking cars.

He'd never seen anything like it, only able to see the glow of the lights and hear the dullened noise of the band playing in the main hall when he had been herded out.

Now he could see what was causing all the fuss.

The front of the Hall had been decorated with large spotlights beaming down onto the road and stairway, with a thick and heavy looking red carpet rolled down each side. People had lined up along railings, some taking photos and others speaking to the guests.

Everyone he could see was wearing extravagant clothes or exquisite dresses, to the point where even in his tuxedo lent to him by Victor he felt somewhat underdressed.

Before long, it was his turn to step out into the limelight, with people shouting and waving him over before the door was properly open, trying to catch his already overwhelmed attention.

He hadn't been able to hear it inside the vehicle, but an announcer was calling out everyone as they got out of their car so that the other guests knew who was attending the event and those by the railings could decide if they were worth the time and effort. It reminded him of the movie premieres that his father had told him about.

As expected, once Berlioz's face was visible, the announcer began in a deep booming voice, "Now here we have Victor's guest of honour tonight, Berlioz! A man we all need to pay attention to as we will see later on tonight!"

It appeared that the somewhat vague announcement had the effect of making several heads turn his way as he walked towards the stairway. He nervously waved to those by the railings, many reaching out to try and literally catch him for a photograph or quote.

The corporate media was also onsite, with several people broadcasting the event. Small teams from Leonemeccanica, Rayleonard and the Bernard and Felix Foundation had setup in various positions around the crowd, keeping whatever audiences that were watching informed on the event and the guests.

Finally making his way up the stairway and across the short distance to the main doors, he entered the foyer where a glass of chilled champagne was passed to him by a server wearing a simple black waistcoat with the Rayleonard symbol emblazoned on the left-hand side.

Nobody had directly spoken to him yet but he was certainly aware of the heads and eyes turning his way as the guests were directed into the main hall of the building.

To say that his breath was taken away would be an understatement. The room was a work of art, with polished mahogany lining the walls with intricate carvings and the floor had such a mirror shine that Berlioz was concerned about losing his footing.

The centre piece of the room was an absolutely colossal chandelier with seven tiers of lights and crystal hanging down until they ended at a single carmine coloured jewel.

Berlioz hadn't seen a single sign of Victor yet, but the stage to one side of the room with several large lights illuminating it suggested that when he did make an appearance, it would be there.

Staff were slowly making their way around the growing crowd, refilling people's drinks, offering tiny portions of food, likely to keep people satiated until the main meal.

Roughly twenty minutes passed, Berlioz was grateful for the few people that did come up to him to make conversation, but as soon as it turned to the topic of work, several awkward glances were made between guests.

He could hear the muttering already.

"What is a Raven doing here?"

"Has Victor lost his mind?"

"Is it safe for us to be here?"

Of course this was how it went. The rich and powerful in their ivory towers never had to personally deal with Ravens. Only seeing their effects in the distance as they looked down on the rest of the world.

Never able to understand, they would fear him for as long as he breathed simply because of the power all Ravens held. Many were too proud to admit it, but the fact that the Ravens were the only non-corporate power in existence able to sustain itself and operate without any input from the Corporations frightened them.

Any power not under their control was an unknown, a vector they couldn't predict. After years of moulding battlefields, warzones and conflicts to shape their every need, the idea that a military force they couldn't manipulate was terrifying. Not to mention the fact that the Ravens were the only ones on the planet with Armored Cores.

Thankfully, Berlioz was spared when one of the staff members stepped onto the stage from a shrouded archway to the right of the stage. He walked up to the microphone and said very clearly, "If all the guests would like to gather here, Mr. Rayleonard will be arriving shortly."

With that, he left by the same way he came in. At the same time, everybody gravitated to the front of the stage, standing and talking quietly. Berlioz followed everyone's example, putting his empty champagne glass on the tray of a passing server.

The lights dimmed, with only the focused lighting now casting shadows across the curtain at the back with a single condenser microphone on a stand occupying the open space.

It was only twenty seconds or so before Victor walked on stage, appearing out of the dark as if he simply phased into existence there.

Stopping just behind the microphone, he cleared his throat before beginning to speak, "Hello ladies and gentlemen, allow me to first thank you all for coming. I do hope that everybody here enjoys themselves to the fullest."

There was a short applause before he continued, "Now to finally let everyone in on the reason for this event, I would like to call a special guest to the stage," he looked down on Berlioz immediately as a spotlight was shone on him, "Berlioz, could you possibly come up here for a second?"

Every single pair of eyes in the room turned to face him, or at least tried to look at him as people realised that the special guest was a Raven.

While trying to not make eye contact with anyone in particular, Berlioz walked through the crowd, everyone giving him a clear berth to the small set of stairs that led up to the stage.

The moment he was next to Victor, the man pulled him into his side with a vice-like grip on his shoulder, like a father would pull his son in when speaking to a stranger.

"This young man is the very reason we are able to enjoy today's event," he started, alternatively beaming at Berlioz and the crowd below them. "I would like to personally introduce you to the only Armored Core pilot able to surpass my admittedly high standards during a test pilot program I hosted over the last few months."

There were murmurs between guests but Victor carried on over them. Berlioz was very aware of the fact that in reality, there was actually someone who far and away surpassed Berlioz's score during the test program. "As I'm sure many of you here are aware, Rayleonard has been making great strides in recent months, catching up to both BFF and even Leonemeccanica in terms of economic strength and territories held. But I am also very aware that this period of growth will eventually stagnate and recess over time if something doesn't push us to the very top."

The murmuring grew louder and even Berlioz shot Victor a glance at his words. If what Berlioz could understand from what was being said, Rayleonard was looking to do something big.

"I am happy to announce," said Victor with a widening grin on his face, "That Berlioz here is Rayleonard's ticket to the top. In less than a week, he will officially sign an exclusive contract with Rayleonard. In the meantime we continue to put the finishing touches on the other half of this project and you will all be able to see the end result after Berlioz has signed the contract."

Berlioz still didn't know what this other half of the project was, but he assumed it potentially had something to do with all of the information that was gathered during the program.

Victor carried on, "I believe that with recent successes and now the completion of the test pilot program only days away, Rayleonard has a chance to truly carve out a space for itself in this world. I see a humanity able to leave behind the horrors of its past, to move forwards into a glorious future, with Rayleonard leading the way!"

Everyone was enamoured with his words and even Berlioz had to admit that he could have been equally swept away with the speech if he weren't so aware of where he was next to the very man giving such a speech.

Hundreds of eyes were focused on them, all glimmering in the light cast by the reflections off the chandelier. It was like they were shimmering, as if their dreams were being realised before them, regardless of their corporate allegiances.

Finally, the awkwardness bled away as he let Victor's charisma wash over him, another glass of champagne handed to everyone that didn't have one already including himself and Victor.

Raising the glass, Victor said with absolute conviction, "For the future and for Rayleonard!" Like well-trained parrots, they all rang back in unison.

"For Rayleonard!"

"For Rayleonard!"

"For Rayleonard!"

#####

17:45

18/02/2106

Exhausted didn't even begin to cover how Berlioz felt. There had been a party of some shape or form every day since the initial event with more and more guests coming every time. He had been expected to perform in front of everyone again and again as everybody wanted to see the Raven supposedly destined to bring glory to Rayleonard.

He initially didn't mind, but now having been given three days off before the last party that would be held after his signing on the Saturday, he was glad to have the time to recover.

That recovery was cut short by the door bell ringing.

Berlioz put the tablet computer down on the bed and sat up, ignoring the pain in his joints as he walked to the door which was beginning to ring repeatedly now.

"Ok ok! I'm here damn you can calm-"

The moment the door was open wide enough, something small with long black hair crashed into his chest with a slightly muffled huff.

"Whuh?" said Berlioz in confusion as he tried to figure who had suddenly decided to hug him with no forewarning.

However all became clear when a scowling face looked up at him, "Long time no see, brother."

At that, he wrapped his own arms around her and squeezed her tightly, "I'm really sorry Alicia. Good to see you though, what did I do to deserve a visit?"

"What did you do?" The scowl intensified, "Try virtually dropping off the face of the Earth for nearly three months."

As much as she sounded genuinely upset, the fact that her face was quickly buried into his chest meant that he was likely already forgiven just for being there now.

At five foot seven, Berlioz was virtually spot on average height in relation to the general public. But in comparison to most Ravens, who averaged out more around the six foot mark, he was actually pretty short. His sister had, for the lack of a better phrase, gotten the short straw, inheriting their mother's height. Barely managing to clear five foot two, she even managed to make him feel tall.

Eventually she let go of him and walked into his living room, immediately sprawling onto his sofa, obviously at home wherever she went.

He followed her in asking, "So did you have a plan or are you just crashing here for the pleasure of my company?"

"Uhhhhhhhhh," uncertain was apparently the mindset she was in today, but she managed to continue saying, "I figured it's been what, nearly a year since we got to see each other in person so you were due a hassling."

He laughed, "So what would you have done if I was out when you got here?" He wondered if she'd even considered the possibility that maybe the door wouldn't have opened no matter how many times she rang the bell.

"I would have waited. What else could I have done?" she answered without looking up at him as he poured her a glass of water in the kitchen.

As he set the glass next to her on the coffee table, he decided to push the issue a little further, just to see what she'd say, "What if I didn't come back? How long would you wait?"

There was no hesitation when she looked away from her phone and straight at him, declaring, "I wouldn't wait forever, I'd go and find you, wherever you were."

At that, Berlioz couldn't help but smile, "Alright you," he said standing up, "What did you want for dinner?"


	6. Wake Up

Hugh Gilson Hall, Guest Room

22:15

19/02/2106

Berlioz had decided to retire early that night, knowing that the largest event planned by Victor was the next day. He wanted to make sure that he had the energy to deal with the crowd that was likely to attend.

Having returned to the Hall earlier that day saved him having to get up early on the day to travel from the Ark.

Alicia had decided to stay until she was literally forced to leave as Berlioz had to go, not to mention he was worried about her family getting worried about her. He'd initially been concerned whether they'd treat her right, as there were always stories about sub-par foster families neglecting the children they took on.

But from what he'd seen, the handful of times he'd visited her new family, they had been extremely kind and accommodating, making sure that Alicia felt like she was part of them and not some unknown to be feared.

They were fully aware of his work and they still treated him like any other guest. The couple's five year old son at the time had been shy and reserved, but Alicia said that after a few months he was acting like any younger brother would have.

Berlioz was glad that his actions all those years ago had paid off. He wouldn't know what to do with himself if she'd ended up in a worse situation because of it.

He was lying in bed, somewhere halfway between awake and asleep, when he heard the door to the guest room open. Assuming it was someone getting lost or perhaps mistakenly entering his room thinking it theirs, he ignored it.

When the rush of heavy footsteps came, it was already too late for him.

"It's him! Get him!" Shouted a voice before someone threw the covers off him, something smashing into the back of his head.

White noise exploded in his head as a second blow struck him in the temple, completely disorientating him. He couldn't even shout out as a cloth gag was shoved into his mouth and tied tightly, cutting into the sides of his mouth.

A thick black sack was then pulled over his head and he could feel several hands hauling him to his feet, arms under his shoulders as they dragged his limp frame away.

 _What… What's happening?_

Berlioz couldn't think straight, the combination of the blinding pain in his head and the confusion at almost being asleep when it happened meant that a coherent train of thought was almost impossible.

They dragged him down the stairs to the ground floor, his legs banging on every step as they lacked the strength to support his body, although he assumed that suited whoever was dragging him just fine.

He felt the cool night breeze on his hands, before something slammed into his stomach, winding him. It was rock solid and felt somewhat rectangular, he assumed it was the butt of a rifle.

Against his sides through the thin pyjamas that had been provided, he could feel what seemed like body armour.

Adrenaline was starting to kick in. These people weren't common thugs or thieves, they were soldiers. Soldiers operated on orders, meaning that someone had sent them to abduct him.

 _...I'll make you pay, when you least expect it!..._

 _No, it couldn't be him. How could he order soldiers around, he has no power anymore._

He dismissed the reactionary thought of Thermidor from his mind, trying to imagine who else would wish him harm.

No names came to mind, but as he was bundled into a vehicle of some kind, he knew that eventually he'd find out.

The journey wasn't long, they didn't seem to go off the road, instead making a sharp turn roughly fifteen minutes after leaving the Hall's grounds. He wasn't sure, but he could have sworn that he could hear the sound of jet engines idling.

His suspicion was confirmed when the vehicle door was opened and that familiar idling rumble rushed over him.

Berlioz didn't get long to hear it as once again something was smashed into the back of his head, making him stagger and dropping down, ripping the pyjama bottoms and skinning his knees.

 _God, why is this happening?_ Of course, there was no answer. Perhaps that's what this was? Divine retribution for the sins he had committed.

Shaking that thought loose, he knew he needed to think straight if he was going to survive. The issue still at hand was the reasoning for his abduction. It couldn't be something petty like ransom as he had enough to pay off all but the most ludicrous demand.

Berlioz recognised the jet engines as those of a standard issue transporter, like the ones used to drop ACs or military equipment into mission areas.

He could hear them talking, over the sound of the engines and the ringing in his ears, Berlioz listened in.

"Any word from the second team?" Said the first voice, the same one that had yelled in the guest room.

A deeper voice with a southern twang answered, "They're literally about to start, Captain. Give it five minutes and we'll be all set."

 _Second team? Was someone else being abducted as well?_

"Good, let me know when they're finished. Our ETA is around thirty minutes so let them know to hang tight in case we need them." The first voice sounded slightly more distant, like it was moving away.

The second barked, "Yes, Sir!" Another pair of arms hooked under him and hauled him upright, the bitter cold was starting to cut into his skin, the ragged mess of his knees was stinging more and more as the wind picked up.

Berlioz soon found himself shoved into and strapped down in one of the seats inside the transporter.

From then on, there was silence. The transporter taxied and took off, banking a hard right before levelling off to cruise to whatever destination they were headed for. One of the soldiers had mentioned that the trip would only be thirty minutes, so it couldn't be that far away, likely still in the former Canadian Northwest if not slightly south of it.

He couldn't be sure as he had no idea what direction they were going in. Wishing that the soldiers would talk more wasn't going to get anything to happen. That and if he kicked up a fuss he'd likely get beaten for his effort.

Just like the soldiers said, around twenty five to thirty minutes after take-off, the plane nosed down and banked into a turn, lining up with their destination.

What he hated most was just not knowing. He wanted the sack on his head to be taken off, just so he could see something, anything.

The cold came back as the transporter landed and the ramp opened, the harness holding him into his seat was unbuckled and he was yanked to his feet, thankful he was able to stand.

Although this didn't sit well with the soldiers carrying him, who saw fit to kick his legs out from under him and smash a rifle butt into his back, sending a lightning bolt of pain through his entire body.

His feet dragged across tarmac before he heard what sounded like an extremely large door opening. Unsure of where he was going, the sensation of tarmac under his feet was replaced by that of dirt and stone.

The sensation of going underground settled in as the sound of that large door closing got further and further way, echoing slightly. Berlioz chose to remain silent during the entire ordeal, saving his words for when he had a clearer picture of what was happening.

An elevator trip followed, a strange sense of Deja-vu setting in as they descended deep into the Earth. He didn't make the effort to support himself as he didn't want someone to break his legs for trying.

Why did this feel so familiar? Even deprived of his sight and his other senses dulled by pain, he felt like he'd been here before.

They exited the elevator, coming to a sudden stop just outside the door. Berlioz heard a woman's voice quietly ask, "Is… Is that him?"

"Yeah," came the terse reply, "Is everything ready?"

There was a pause before she answered, "Yes, he's waiting for you." The arms pulled at him again, dragging him forwards.

A cold sweat built on his skin. He knew that voice.

 _That was Vivian…_

If his feelings of familiarity were added to the short travel time and her being here, he was pretty sure of his location.

It wasn't hard to guess that he had been brought back to the Rayleonard/AkvaVit Testing Facility.

A door opened and they walked through with it closing behind them as he was forced into a seat, his hands were tied together in front of him with a ziptie.

Then Berlioz heard a voice he very much recognised from the amount of time he'd recently spent hearing it, "Alright, thank you gentlemen. Take that off him, I'd like to get this over and done with as soon as possible."

The sack was pulled off, to finally allow Berlioz to see where he was.

The room was dark, a single bright spotlight was beaming down onto the plain steel table that he was sat in front of. Around the room with their backs to the walls were men and women wearing black body armour with rifles across their chest. No visible identification was worn, meaning they were likely a special-forces group.

But straight ahead of him, sitting at the opposite side of the small table, was the source of that voice, no doubt the one who had orchestrated the entire ordeal.

The expressionless and almost vacant face of Victor Rayleonard glared at him out of the gloom, the small glasses on the bridge of his nose glinting slightly from the bright spotlight.

He gave a long and deep sigh, taking his glasses off and rubbing one of the lenses with a handkerchief he pulled from the pocket of the double-breasted waistcoat he was wearing.

If it weren't for the current situation, Berlioz imagined this is what it would be like if your boss was calling you into his office to let you know that you'd been laid off.

The man gave the impression that this was simply another part of his long and arduous day, just one more thing to tick off on his schedule. The terrifying reality was that his assumption was likely closer to the mark than he liked.

"First of all, Mr. Lamond," Berlioz was shocked out of his reverie by the use of his last name as Victor put his glasses back on, looking directly at him while speaking very calmly and in a clear tone, "I want to apologise for your treatment but we couldn't have you fighting back or things would have gotten difficult."

Berlioz ignored this, waiting for Victor to get to the point.

"Now, we have a small matter to discuss. This entire affair can be dealt with in minutes if you're willing to cooperate and I do hope that is the case today." Victor stood up at that, very slowly and deliberately.

In the dark, Berlioz's eyes had begun to adjust to the dim and he could make out that Victor had turned around to the seat he'd just been sitting on where a blazer was hung over the back. He pulled an envelope out of the inside pocket and walked around the table in a few steps until he was standing next to Berlioz.

He could see the envelope now, it was brown with a red and black hatching around the edge, just like the one that held his contract.

Victor ripped it open in a single motion, pulling out the single piece of paper inside, unfolding it and laying it flat in front of Berlioz. He took a pen from his blazer and placed it next to the paper.

"Sign it."

Berlioz slowly turned his head to look at Victor, shooting him a look of disgust before looking back to the paper.

"Was this entirely necessary?" He muttered as he started reading, "I already agreed to-"

He stopped. Reading from the top again.

 _Wait… Wait this… This isn't the same. This isn't the contract Vivian gave me._

It read.

 _To Mr. Berlioz Lamond, Raven,_

 _As of the 20_ _th_ _of February 2106 you are officially signed as an exclusive Raven to the control of the_ _Rayleonard_ _Corporation._

 _The terms of your contract are as follows:_

 _This contract is valid for a period of five (5) years. Any extension of the contract is to be agreed on by the contract holder alone._

 _Any and all requests given to you by the contract holder are to be accepted with no questions asked._

 _Should the Raven's ranking fall below S-Rank 5 or the agreed minimum ranking, their contract is considered null and void. The agreed penalty fee for this contract is the immediate withdrawal of the signed Raven's entire assets, should the condition for this penalty be met._

 _Should the contract holder believe that the Raven is operating outside of acceptable limits either professionally or privately, the contract holder retains the right to enact whatever punishment they see fit._

 _As part of this contract, the contract holder has agreed to and is obligated to give you:_

 _A minimum of three direct missions per week with a minimum five thousand (5000) credit reward._

 _These terms are verified and signed by the official office of_ _Rayleonard_ _and the Raven's Ark._

 _Signed Raven:_ ___

 _Signed Contract Holder:_ _Victor Rayleonard_

 _Signed 3_ _rd_ _Party:_ _Desmond Archambault_

Berlioz couldn't believe it, he didn't want it to be real. This wasn't a contract for services rendered, it was absolute control. There was no balance, if he signed this, Victor would effectively own him and there would be nothing he could do. It was a step short of actually taking his humanity away and making him property to be owned.

What shocked him most, was the fact that the Governor's signature was clearly there underneath Victor's. How could he? Desmond must had read this before signing, he had to. There was no way he would allow this to happen to one of his Ravens, he knew how much everyone on the Ark meant to him.

Berlioz stared at the paper and said, "Desmond's signature, its fake isn't it?" He prayed he was correct.

Victor huffed and crossed his arms, "Of course it is, do you honestly think he'd sign something like that?" He didn't even try and hide it, Victor clearly knew that this contract was completely illegal.

A thought crossed Berlioz's mind, "So why… Why bother with this farce? Why not forge my signature just like his? I'm sure you have it somewhere."

"Because, Mr. Lamond," Victor started, pacing over to his end of the table, "It's important that you acknowledge and accept this contract as reality. I need you to sign it yourself, so that you understand that this is your future as of today."

Even through the pain, Berlioz was able to scoff slightly at that. His future? Was this where everything had led up to?

When had everything gone so wrong?

When he accepted the contract? When Thermidor's expulsion led to his success? When he said he'd participate in the test pilot program?

It didn't matter in the end. He still had his own free will, so long as he didn't sign that contract anyway.

He slowly lifted his hands, everyone in the room stiffened, not knowing what to expect. But he instead gently pushed the paper away.

He said as clearly as he could, "No. I will not sign this contract."

Victor's expression was actually a lot calmer than Berlioz anticipated, obviously the man was expecting some resistance.

An unnatural, crooked smile worked its way onto Victor's face, "Now now Mr. Lamond, I know there have been some adjustments to the contract that Ms. Sanders gave you, but you must know by now that a few changes here and there are just part of the process when it comes to dealing with Corporations."

Through some miracle, Berlioz was able to raise an eyebrow at that, saying, "A few changes? This contract is illegal and ethically wrong, there's no other way about it. I refuse to sign something like that."

Victor stared at him, before glancing at one of the soldiers who in turn gave a slight nod and walked out of the room.

Turning back to him, Victor nodded, bobbing his head slightly as he started pacing again, his arms behind his back.

"I think that's an entirely fair statement to make," he said with an understanding look on his face, like he was a banker listening to the woes of a family about to lose their house.

Sympathetic and compassionate, even though the current situation at hand was entirely their fault.

"But,"

 _Of course there was a 'but'…_

Victor continued, "I believe that you just need look at this from the perspective of Rayleonard as a whole. I will never be able to seize the power that I and this Corporation deserve with the resources I have to hand right now. It might seem strange to hear it, but we all need you, Mr. Lamond. I can't realise my dreams if you don't," he pushed the paper back in front of Berlioz, "Sign the contract. Alright? Please, Mr. Lamond?"

Surely the nice guy act was a joke, surely Victor didn't believe that would justify the act of signing this abomination of a contract.

Once again, he sat upright as best he could, looking Victor dead in the eyes and said, "No. I will not sign this contract."

That smile vanished from Victor's face after a second. He sighed long and hard, rubbing his hands one over the other.

"What is so difficult about this?" He asked like it was a genuine mystery to him, "Why won't you sign it? It would be so easy, just put pen to paper and it's done, right? Just like that!"

He shouted at the end, his voice filling the tiny room.

"Just sign the contract! Just sign it! Stop making this so much harder than it really needs to be. Sign the contract and that'll be the end of it!" Victor's face was beginning to go red at the strain of shouting, small spider webs of blue and purple capillaries spreading across his cheeks as they flushed.

It seemed that intimidation was the name of the game now, Victor having quickly abandoned the idea of trying to act like the good guy in this.

Berlioz had to keep his nerve, he couldn't allow anything to force his hand. It was all over if he signed that contract. It might as well be a death sentence. It would, for lack of a better phrase, end his life.

"Come on, just… Just sign it!" He grabbed a handful of Berlioz's hair and shoved his face down onto the contract, "Sign the contract goddamnit!"

Berlioz gave it a second, before giving the only answer that would leave his lips.

"No. I will not sign this contract."

The moment he said it, Victor slammed his face into the table.

There wasn't enough distance to build up decent momentum, but it still hurt like hell. He was thankful it didn't break his nose.

Victor walked away, pacing again with a hand covering his mouth, nodding to himself and muttering, "Ok… Alright… Ok…"

Letting out another theatrical sigh, he looked to both of the soldiers behind Berlioz, waving his hand dismissively before turning his back to them.

The chair that Berlioz was sitting in was suddenly pulled way, forcing him to stand up. He wasn't standing for long as boots were driven into the backs of his legs, arms on his shoulders pushing him down to his knees.

There, now kneeling before Victor's turned back, they smashed their rifle butts into his sides and back, his stomach and head. A couple of ribs cracked, a tooth came loose.

Something warm and wet was running down his face and into his mouth. Metallic and bitter.

Eventually they stopped, hauling him back into the seat which was pushed back into the same position it was in before. He wasn't so much sitting in the chair as much as he was placed there. There was still a little strength left in his body and he needed to conserve it as long as possible.

Victor turned back around, one hand on his hip, the other across his mouth with a frown on his forehead, like he was trying to solve a difficult puzzle.

"Now, Mr. Lamond," he said, pacing his way over to Berlioz, arms behind his back again, "Will you please sign the contract?"

Even motionless, the pain was almost unbearable. Every joint ached, every limb burned and his breathes came in ragged gasps as the cracked ribs sent lances of pain up and down his sides as they flexed against his expanding lungs.

He couldn't let Victor win, under no circumstances could he give up. Through all the pain, all the abuse, he had to endure.

Slowly shifting in the seat, he moved until he was more on the side where Victor had come to a stop, expecting an answer.

With as much strength has he could muster, Berlioz lent over and spat blood onto Victor's shoes before glaring up at him.

"No."

Berlioz had to admit, Victor moved fast for his size and age. The first blow was a right hook, striking him hard enough to launch him from the seat, slamming onto the floor with a dull thud.

Victor pinned him down, lashing out again and again, fists driving into his neck, chest and face.

Almost as fast as he began, he stopped, reaching out and taking a rifle from one of the soldiers who had remained unmoving the entire time.

He honestly thought that Victor was going to shoot him, but instead, he pulled out Berlioz's left arm, spreading his fingers out.

The rifle butt was brought down on the slender digits with brutal force, the thin bones inside audibly shattering under the impact. Berlioz couldn't help but cry out at that, a single desperate howl cut short by vomit spewing out of his mouth.

Even if his mind could survive, his body couldn't help but react. Berlioz couldn't bring himself to look at the ruined state of his hand once Victor passed the rifle back to the solider.

But he wasn't done with Berlioz just yet apparently. Propping the almost comatose Raven upright against the wall, Victor took a step back and kicked Berlioz in the stomach, before pulling back and kicking him in the side of the head.

Berlioz remembered hitting the floor, but then was suddenly back in the chair staring at Victor who had a towel in his hands, wiping the blood off his knuckles.

Clearly unconsciousness had set in for a short period of time, Victor having had enough time to put him in the chair.

There was no expression on his face now, not even anger or frustration. His eyes were unfeeling, apathetic.

"Mr. Lamond," he said in a flat tone, like a father trying to discipline his child, "Sign the contract."

It actually took a few seconds for Berlioz to have enough breath to speak the single syllable that he needed.

"No."

Blood was dripping from his hand, his mouth and his head. Likely from other places he couldn't identify through the all-consuming pain. It stained everything around him.

But that had always been the way of things. He could just see it this time. Everywhere he went, blood flowed.

Victor stared at him, before closing his eyes and standing up, walking over and past Berlioz to one of the guards behind him.

Even through the disorientation, he clearly heard him say, "Corporal, your sidearm, please."

A second afterwards, something hard and cold was pressed into the back of his head. It didn't take a genius to work out what it was.

"Mr. Lamond," said Victor, "Sign the contract."

This was it.

The end.

Not many could say they died personally at the hands of a corporate CEO, but he wished he could have put up a little more of a fight. Then again, perhaps this was the best fight he'd ever have.

He would at the very least die doing the right thing. Could he ask for any more than that?

Of course, Victor was expecting an answer, the gun pressing harder into his head, the harsh edge of the weapon cutting his scalp.

Berlioz said the last word that would leave his lips.

"No."

He waited.

And waited.

But after twenty seconds, nothing had happened. Berlioz remained in pain and very much alive despite his condition. He let go of the shallow breath he didn't even realise that he'd been holding in.

Suddenly, startling Berlioz, the gun was dropped from his head, the sound of it being handed back to the soldier confused him.

Was it a test? Did he pass?

"Is it ready to bring in?" said Victor to the soldier quietly. Berlioz listened in as best he could to try and work out what was happening now.

The soldier answered, "Yes Sir, it's just outside. The other team is ready whenever you are."

"Good, good." Muttered Victor as the door behind Berlioz opened and the rattling of a metal trolley echoed in the small space.

It was wheeled next to him and he could see what looked like a military style briefcase computer as well as an external device that appeared to be a camera of some kind.

The soldiers who had brought the trolley in worked around Berlioz, setting the computer up, plugging it into a port in the wall and fixing the camera to the top of the screen.

He said nothing, choosing to try and remain conscious despite the pain. Victor likewise was silent, but Berlioz couldn't see him, unable to look behind him because of the unrelenting pain.

Finally they were ready, Victor walked around him, leaning over the table with his finger over the enter key.

He looked straight into Berlioz's eyes.

"Remember, this is your fault."

Victor pushed the key, sitting back down.

Through the haze of the pain, he struggled to understand what he was looking at on the screen. It looked like someone in a chair, with two others standing behind them, but it wasn't clear.

Then he heard a voice that sent raw, unfiltered panic through every nerve in his body, his heart freezing in fear.

"Ber- Berlioz? Oh god, Berlioz…"

It was Alicia's voice.

They had his sister.

"No…" Hissed Berlioz, "No, you… fucking… bastards…"

Drool and blood dribbled down his chin, they both filled his mouth, compounding the issue of speaking with a broken body.

Adrenaline flowed through him, the pain dulling and his vision clearing slightly. But he wished that the haze had remained when he could clearly make out what was on the screen.

Alicia was in what appeared to be her bedroom. Her pyjamas were stained with a red spray across the front of them, the colour vivid on the white of her clothes. The figures standing next to her were soldiers wearing the same armour and equipment as the ones in the room with him and Victor.

One of them had a large combat knife to Alicia's neck, the camera was detailed enough that he could make out the point digging into her skin ever so slightly.

His teeth were grinding against each other, his still intact right hand was clenching and unclenching reflexively as stress overtook him.

"Did they…" Berlioz started, trying to speak as clearly as possible, "Did they hurt you?"

She looked like she'd been crying, her face was wet and her eyes red. She was shivering, like she was on the verge of bursting into tears again as she shook her head ever so slightly before saying with a shiver in her voice.

"It's not my blood."

For a second it didn't add up, until he looked behind the soldier to her left, the camera angle wide enough for him to see.

Rayleonard's depravity knew no end.

There were three bodies sat, propped upright against the bedroom wall. Two adult sized bodies, one man, the other a woman. One child sized body, a boy.

Both their hands and ankles had been bound with zip ties just like the ones around his own wrists.

The family that had cared for his sister.

The mother and father both had gunshot wounds to the stomach, but the red spray behind them and the holes in their heads meant they had been executed. Shot like animals.

Not even the boy had been spared, the stain behind him and down his face made Berlioz's stomach churn.

"You forced my hand Mr. Lamond," said Victor with the false sound of concern in his voice, "I didn't want to resort to these methods, but your insistence on refusing to sign the contract left me with no other choice!"

At this point Berlioz didn't know if Victor was just putting on a front or if he genuinely believed the delusion he spouted with no hesitation.

He glowered at the man before turning his attention back to his sister.

"What's…? What's going to happen, Berlioz?" she asked, the uncertainty in her voice was almost painful in itself.

He had to keep himself from panicking with her, "Don't worry… It'll be fine I promise."

"No," interrupted Victor, "It will not be fine."

He spoke very loudly, to ensure that the soldiers on the other side could hear him clearly, "Mr. Lamond, if you refuse to sign the contract one more time. You will watch your sister's throat be cut like a pig, then I will shoot you. This is your last chance."

Alicia whimpered slightly, shifting in the seat as the knife dug in a little deeper. "Berlioz," she started, looking straight at him, "Don't sign it. Don't do it."

As he stared at her, his willpower began to crumble. The resolve to die with his head held high started to fall apart.

Tears finally began to form in the corners of his swollen eyes as the wall he built, that bastion of hope came crashing down.

Slowly, he picked up the pen.

"Alicia?" he said, staring at the paper, knowing that deep down, he was making the wrong choice.

The selfish choice.

"No!" Alicia shouted, struggling in the chair as she fought her bindings despite the immediate threat to her life, "Berlioz! Please don't do it! You can't do this!"

Berlioz ignored her, continuing as he put the pen's nib to paper, "You remember… That box I… I gave you years ago?"

She fell silent, looking down but nodding at the same time. She obviously did remember, which made Berlioz feel a little better.

"I think you'll… Be needing that now…" The sound of the pen scratching was the loudest sound, audible over everything else.

"Berlioz… Please…" She was sobbing now, unable to hold it in, her tiny frame shaking in the chair.

"I'm sorry Alicia… Please, be safe. I love you."

The pen tip hovered over where he had to sign his name, caught in a moment when Alicia's voice changed. The tears were still there, but she wasn't sobbing. Her teeth were bared and gritted, her gaze burned into his eyes as he paused.

"I'll save you. I promise I will find you. No matter what you hear me? If it's the last thing I do, if I have to give up everything, I'll bring you back. I swear I'll burn the world to ash if it means I can even hope to save you, you hear me Berlioz?! I will be there for you!"

He nodded slowly, before finishing his name.

It was the last thing he heard her say as Victor snapped the computer shut. The stained piece of paper holding Berlioz's eyes as he realised what he'd done.

 _Signed Raven:_ _Berlioz Lamond_

Victor snatched it away from him in a flash, folding it along the original creases and sliding it back into the envelope. "Thank you Mr. Lamond. It was a pleasure doing business with you."

He walked out of the room, the majority of the guards leaving with him, only the two by the door remaining.

Berlioz sat in the chair, his whole body shaking as he slowly broke down.

He cried.

And cried.

And cried.


	7. Torment

Hugh Gilson Hall, Back Rooms

16:50

20/02/2106

Pain.

The only thing Berlioz could feel was pain. Even as the doctor Victor hired to piece him back together pumped him full of a cocktail of narcotics and stimulants; that pain was still there.

An ache that no drug could dull, no whispered words could ease. It was a smouldering, slow burning hole in his chest that consumed him from the inside out. Filling his mind with a vicious poison that rendered his body lifeless and his thoughts empty, save for the guilt and shame.

He's spent hours in a makeshift surgery as metal plates fused his shattered bones, bio-foam filling and halting the organ damage long enough for the healing to start.

To move from place to place, he needed someone to help carry his weight, or a crutch to brace himself against. The muscle damage for the time being meant that he couldn't use his left hand. The doctor injected it with a chemical that would accelerate the recovery process but it would still be stiff and difficult to use for the next couple of days.

Of course he needed to be presentable for the event that night, so Rayleonard had made sure that as much effort was put into concealing his wounds and injuries. They didn't want to tip off everyone at the event that they'd almost killed him the night before.

That would be bad for business.

He'd been such a fool.

A goddamn fool to believe that everything was working in his favour. From the very moment he accepted to participate in Rayleonard's Test Pilot Program he had been playing right into their hands.

So blinded by the thought of success he had disregarded any potential warning signs as simple paranoia and had reached out to seize what he believed he had earned.

There was nothing for him. He had nothing to gain, but had lost everything in the process.

The doctor was performing the final check-ups when the door alarm rang, notifying the doctor that someone wished to enter.

He walked over and spoke quietly over the intercom before allowing the person entry. Berlioz's guts twisted as the man entered.

Victor strode across the room over to the reclining seat that Berlioz sat in. Berlioz was only wearing thin hospital style bottoms and an open buttoned top, making him feel as vulnerable as he did when Victor beat him senseless in nothing but his pyjamas.

That foul, leering face peered down at him, a wry smile on his face. He knew exactly what he was doing and that made him all the more dangerous. Berlioz learned the hard way that this man wielded more power than any one person should.

His thoughts drifted back to his sister. Wishing that he had more time, more strength to do something. For now, she'd have to rely on herself to survive, something he hated more than anything.

The small box that he'd given her only to use in emergencies held a substantial amount of physical cash, as well as the sole access card to a private bank account that only she could withdraw from. With that was a new identification card. A predetermined name that Berlioz would be able to use to search for her should he get the chance.

Lastly, he'd left the sidearm he used in the military and a couple of magazines of ammunition. He dearly hoped that she never had to use it.

"How are with this afternoon, Mr. Lamond?" said Victor, snapping Berlioz back to the painful reality in front of him.

Berlioz said nothing, choosing to just stare at Victor until he lent away slightly, pacing around the room as he usually did.

"I just wanted to discuss some of the details of your contract with you, I'm sure you understand there is a considerable amount of legislation and red tape to work through in this line of work. I just need to confirm a few things before we move on with the process."

Again, Berlioz was silent, watching him move around as he spoke.

"On your contract," he pulled a piece of paper out, but Berlioz didn't know if it was the contract itself or not, "It says, 'Should the contract holder believe that the Raven is operating outside of acceptable limits either professionally or privately, the contract holder retains the right to enact whatever punishment they see fit.' Now I wanted to let you know what exactly your punishment would be for the price of your disobedience."

Victor walked over to stand next to Berlioz, looking down on him, "Should I find your performance in the field falls below the standards I expect, or if you disobey any request given to you, your sister will die. There will be no second chances. You will give me the glory I deserve or I will destroy the only thing you care for."

The only thing Berlioz could think was that she was at the very least still alive. But he couldn't be sure that they were telling the truth.

He said to Victor, "How do I know you aren't lying to me?" Wondering what his answer would be.

"I have no use for an animal that has no bait to chase. If I took away your only reason to obey you would eventually find out and become far too dangerous to let live. But at the same time I need your skills and your power to achieve my own goals. I can't afford to lose you, so in that you can trust me."

Berlioz didn't believe him but he had no option to accept this as the truth. Victor had him right where he wanted him, unable to act, unable to fight back.

"Fine," he muttered.

With nothing else to say, Victor turned and left, but before he walked out of the door, he stopped and called out, "I'm looking forward to working with you Mr. Lamond, I think this is going to be the beginning of something… Beautiful."

Berlioz had no reply, letting Victor leave with the last word.

The doctor had been working on a computer while Victor was in the room. He walked over to Berlioz, checking read outs on several machines that he was hooked up to.

"How do you do this?" said Berlioz quietly to the doctor, who looked shocked that he's spoken to him.

He paused, looking at his feet before turning his head to Berlioz, a despondent look on his face, "Because I'm in exactly the same position you are in. All of us here are. I'm sorry, but that is how Rayleonard operates. If you don't bend to Victor Rayleonard's will, he will break you."

Berlioz wished he hadn't assumed that the doctor was so willing, it made sense that not everyone in the Corporation was as twisted as Victor.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to accuse you" Berlioz muttered, closing his eyes.

"It's not your fault, I only wish that we both get to see our families again. Maybe one day, one day we'll be free." He smiled. A smile filled with false hope.

"Yeah, sure." Berlioz had no room in his heart for false hope at the moment, he had to hold on to hope of his own.

Five years. If he could survive just five years it'd be over. But even he paled at the thought of serving Rayleonard for so long. Who knew what Victor planned for him?

The doctor stepped back, "I'm all done here, Mr. Lamond. Would you like me to help you to the makeup room or would you like a crutch?"

"I'll take the crutch. I need to learn to stand on my own." He said that with an obvious double meaning. He'd never survive if he didn't get strong enough to get by without relying on others.

The doctor said nothing else, handing him a plain aluminium crutch and walking back to him computer. Berlioz hooked the crutch under his right arm and slowly hobbled away at a pathetic pace.

It took him nearly five minutes to get to the room down the corridor, he almost collapsed going up the single step that sat between them. He had to hold the crutch with his elbow as he twisted the handle enough to release the catch, the door swinging up.

He remember that this room was flat and level, grateful that there wasn't an awkwardly placed staircase needed to ascend or descend to the floor.

However, what he wasn't expecting was a familiar face to be waiting for him. When he'd entered, she'd already started speaking before she saw him.

"Hey Berlioz, I'm really sorry but I haven't been given time to…" she finally turned to look at him, stopping short and staring in horror. "Oh my God, Berlioz…"

He gave a bitter smile before limping forwards, saying, "Hi Nicole, guess you're bumping into me sooner than expected."

"Jesus, what happened to you!?" She rushed forwards to support him, but Berlioz knew that her touching him anywhere would be excruciating. Unable to physically stop her, he growled, "Stop! Don't touch me… Please…"

Nicole froze, recoiling away from the sudden aggression in his voice that he'd never needed before, stuttering out, "I'm sorry."

Without saying another word, he made his way, step by crooked step, he finally reached the seat, lowering himself down and putting what weight he could onto the crutch.

She walked up behind him, her hands nervously clutching at her shirt and waistcoat. "What…" she started, almost inaudible, "What happened, Berlioz?"

He didn't answer for nearly thirty seconds before saying, "Unfortunately, I can't tell you. I fear that it would put your life at risk."

Pausing for a moment, he looked up at her, unable to even force a smile as the thought of what he was going to say brought that pain back to the forefront of his mind.

"You could say, Rayleonard took my strength away."

She said nothing, her chin pressed into her chest. Berlioz couldn't see her face, but the choked noise she let out before speaking made it clear that she was fighting back tears, "I'm so sorry. I… I wish there was something I could do."

"There is something you can do," the faintest shred of conviction in his voice, "Don't let them see how much they hurt me. That's your job isn't it? Cover up the scars and bruises, the cuts and stitches. Even if I'm broken, make me look whole again."

She lifted her head, the tears still rolling down her face as she looked at him. Taking one of her shirt cuffs, she wiped them away, before standing upright and nodding.

"They won't even be able to tell."

#####

Berlioz had to admit, he was impressed with her work, wondering if this was something she'd had to do before. They both were silent as she expertly layered on foundations and other strange powders or liquids.

Eventually, after blending some of the more heavily bruised areas, he almost looked like he was completely recovered, like it never happened.

Of course the increasing pain in his body said otherwise as the doctor's painkillers started to wear off. If he was going to get through the night, he'd need another shot.

Before he left, Nicole stopped him making him look at her, their faces barely inches apart. She said, "Please, Berlioz. Whatever you might think, that strength you had, it's not gone. You might not be able to feel it now but…" She looked like she was about to cry again, nearly setting Berlioz off as well, "When the time comes, when you're running on empty, you'll feel it again. You'll be able to fight with a strength that isn't yours. I can promise you that."

He managed to crack a smile, through the pain and said, "Thank you, Nicole. I believe you." At that, he left, heading back to the doctor's room, leaving her behind.

There was no trouble getting another painkiller shot, the ache in his joints and muscles easing enough that he could just about keep it in check. His left hand was still effectively unusable, but he could walk at a pace that wouldn't attract too much attention.

The doctor gave him a small pot of morphine tablets, enough for two doses to cover him for the rest of the night in case the pain increased or if something happened to him. He did tell Berlioz to only take them if there was no other alternative as he could make himself seriously ill by taking them in conjunction with the painkiller cocktail he'd just taken as that contained a significant amount of morphine as well.

The risk of addiction was also a weight on his mind, but the limited amount given to him should prevent him from abusing it.

Berlioz had to wait a few minutes after taking the shot, his vision blurring again and his right hand lost most of its grip.

Once the side effects eased off slightly, he stood up from the reclined seat and left without speaking to the doctor, the both of them already having said their piece to each other.

The walk to the room that held his clothes was a little longer, taking him around ten minutes to cover the distance. At least he wasn't hobbling this time, able to walk almost normally so long as he had the crutch.

As he was being dressed, he wondered how exactly he was supposed to make his way around the event without drawing unnecessary attention to himself. Berlioz quickly found out as the last part of his attire was an almost pitch black mahogany cane with a large red crystal at the top.

Apparently Victor couldn't help himself at times, unable to resist subtly driving his overall point harder into Berlioz.

Standing in front of the full length mirror, he looked almost identical to how he did on the first night a week beforehand. So prim and proper, like a gentlemen who could look down on the rest of the world with distain.

Having now seen what world he'd fallen into, it made him feel sick. The people he had come to despise with every fibre of his being, they surrounded him now. He was one of them. The disgusting elite.

The staff dressing him never said a word through the entire thing. They didn't comment on the fresh scars, the bruising and scabs that covered his body from the previous night.

Nicole only had to disguise the damage to his face, neck, hands or anywhere that could potentially be exposed during the course of the night. His arms, legs and chest weren't given the same treatment, leaving them in whatever state the doctor had finished at.

Nobody else would have to deal with it, so long as he remained reasonably dressed in public, he wouldn't need to go out of his way to hide it. After a month, the injuries would be indistinguishable from the usual bumps and scrapes he got from piloting an AC.

Everyone would be none the wiser and Rayleonard would have perfect deniability. Not that anything as simple as fabricating a convincing story would trouble them.

The only power the Corporations could possibly be challenged by was the Ravens. But even that wasn't an issue because as far as Governor Desmond was concerned, he had seen the first contract and would assume that Berlioz had signed the same one. Anything that came after had presumably been agreed on by all parties so no complaints could be had.

"Alright, you're ready, Sir." The staff member snapped Berlioz out of his trance, standing behind him visible in the mirror.

Berlioz turned slightly, enough so that he could see the staff member out of the corner of his eye, "Alright, thank you." He said with enough energy to not sound sarcastic. As miserable as he was, taking it out on people who had nothing to do with his situation would be wrong.

The door was held open for him as he left, managing a walking pace with the cane only slightly slower than his usual. He was grateful to some degree that he wasn't forced to use the hospital crutch.

In the silence of the back rooms, away from the distant rumble of the starting event, he could hear the pill pot in his jacket pocket rattling. He dearly hoped that he wouldn't have to use them.

Like always, a car was waiting for him out the back of the building, ready to bring him into the procession of vehicles unloading their own oh so very important cargo.

It took him a little time to get into the back seat, the pain flaring up a little as he tried to get in as smoothly as possible. The next challenge would be getting out in front of the crowd without falling over and breaking something.

Through the journey through the woods and the merge with the convoy was silent as usual. He didn't know if the driver was in on what happened or just preferred to keep to himself. It didn't bother Berlioz as talking constantly was a strain he couldn't afford anymore.

As they pulled towards the front of the building, something strikingly different from the last events stood out to him and likely everyone else there.

Over the hedge, in the garden area that opened out from a terrace on the northern wing of the building, was something very large, covered by a black cloth. It was roughly ten or maybe eleven metres tall, but its shape was strange and almost box like with certain protrusions causing the cloth to peak in places.

Several people at the barriers were pointing at the object, talking amongst themselves, likely trying to work out what exactly it was.

Berlioz knew it was probably whatever Victor had been talking about when he referred to the other product of the Test Pilot Program aside from Berlioz himself.

He almost had to laugh at that, he probably would have if it didn't hurt so much. Why was it so normally to think of himself as a product? Because that was the truth now.

Rayleonard had drawn him in, chewed him up, broken him into pieces and spat him out as yet another tool for their endless desire for power.

It was natural for them, to consume and devour with no regard for whoever they destroy in the process. Why would they change now? It worked for them, no one would question them because nobody could. All of the Corporations ran in this fashion, even the most ethically minded like Rosenthal still had to destroy to survive in the environment that the Pax Economica created.

The car came to a stop, the door latch clacking as it unlocked. That was new, likely a precaution to prevent Berlioz from attempting to escape. Not that he was going to be bailing out of moving vehicles was going to be possible anytime soon.

Sucking in the deepest breath he could, Berlioz gritted his teeth as he stepped out of the car, trying to maintain a steady and fluid pace to his movements.

As anticipated, his whole body caught fire as pain lanced through every limb and joint. But he managed to endure, standing upright and shutting the door behind him, walking upright down the red carpet.

Thankfully, the announcer was absent today, on the other hand, the crowd immediately noticed him just like every event after the initial one. They all wanted to get in with Rayleonard's newest exclusive Raven. To coax any favours they could to gain the upper hand.

The guests and press at the barriers reached out to him with hands stretched wide, microphones and cameras in others as they begged and pleaded for interviews and statements.

Every other night he had obliged, spending longer than anyone else talking to those at the barriers, unable to enter the building proper.

Tonight, he pretended that they didn't exist. As he passed them, their faces fell in disappointment as he failed to maintain the impression that he'd been building with them.

Berlioz had a feeling that he'd be disappointing a lot of people in the future. He'd already betrayed the most important person in his life by defying her last request to him.

Carrying on up the stairs, he could feel the eyes following him, other esteemed guests walking up alongside him, trying to hook their arms around him, whispering offers of fame and riches if he did favours for them.

All the same, filthy animals. He'd fallen for their silky, sweetened words before and he would pay that price for the rest of his life for what happened to Alicia. There was no forgiveness for that.

Those white oak doors were waiting for him, parted like the pearl gates of heaven with suited butlers inviting him in.

Of course he knew their truth, they held no paradise, only a bitter and sickening pit that the rich pigs fouled themselves in.

He'd found himself moulded to their shape, made to fit their world and now he had to consume the same filth to survive.

Inside, he followed the crowd into the same main hall that Victor gave his speech in a week ago. Back then he'd so blindly believed that wolf in sheep's clothing, hung on his every word like it was gospel.

As people filled the hall, they gravitated towards him, so Berlioz moved to the furthest away wall possible, so that he had something lean up against and also to put some distance between himself and the crowd.

It was somewhat pointless as they flittered over to him anyway, gibbering and almost drooling over him.

Did all exclusive Ravens have to deal with these slobbering corporate dogs? Or was this a problem that he had to deal with due to Rayleonard's handling of the situation. Not that he could reliably call his situation unique, it was possible that the other exclusive Ravens had been twisted to the breaking point to sign similarly illegal contracts.

What horrific acts had they been put through and forced into? Were their families also held at gunpoint?

He finally got a reprieve when a staff member took to the stage and announced that Victor would be arriving soon. Just like always.

Berlioz wondered why people got so excited over these things when they were all the same, he was aware however that he equally had been caught up in every event previous, despite the lack of diversity. Maybe they enjoyed the experience of pretending to be human.

There were a few minutes before the lights dimmed and the monster running this godforsaken display of wealth stepped forwards, that same old smile adorning his face.

Victor cleared his throat before speaking, "Welcome! Ladies and gentlemen, to the final event in honour of Berlioz's signing to Rayleonard. Tonight, we will all soon bear witness to the union of this projects two halves. The culmination of all our hard work, our blood, sweat," he shot a glance to Berlioz at the back of the room, "And our tears. We will see the future, and the future is Rayleonard!"

Everyone cheered while Berlioz remained silent and unmoving, his eye's burning gaze focused on Victor as he applauded himself along with everyone else.

"Now!" He almost shouted, quietening the crowd, "If everyone would like to make their way onto the terrace?"

The curtains that had been covering the north facing wall were pulled back revealing a large pair of doors that opened out onto a large marble terrace that looked out onto the grassy area below it. It was this same area that held the strange covered object, it loomed over them, blotting out a decent portion of the night sky.

Being near the door meant that he should have been with the first outside, but he chose to wait for Victor to pass him on the way out, the two locking glares as he walked through the doors.

Berlioz followed him out, through the crowd who talked between themselves, a low murmur in the air. It seemed like Victor was the only one that knew what was happening, just the way he liked things.

Absolute control was his drug of choice, his insatiable vice.

The pair of them stood out on the grass below the crowd, all of them looking down on them as a light breeze rolled through the thin smattering of trees to the east of the field.

"It is with my greatest pleasure," declared Victor, sweeping his arm and speaking in a booming voice, "That I reveal to you, the most powerful weapon to exist on the battlefield."

He turned to Berlioz, motioning towards the cloth, "If you'd be so kind?"

A part of him wanted to spit in his face, but another part of him wanted to know what exactly Victor was hyping up so much.

Grabbing the cloth, he pulled it as hard as he could, the light material falling away from the motion as Victor said to the massed group, "I give you, the Armored Core Supplice!"

The cloth fell to the ground, unveiling a mobile gantry used to move AC frames on the ground.

In the gantry, stood a jet black Rayleonard 03-AALIYAH AC frame. The heat sink fins in the shoulders and along the front of the angled core were a deep gold along with several other details that had been painted the metallic colour.

In its left hand it held a Rayleonard 04-MARVE assault rifle and in the right was a Bernard and Felix Foundation 051-ANNR rifle. It had a set of BFF 051-ANAM countermeasure dispensers on its shoulder mounts that were used to redirect missiles away from an AC. Finally, on the right hand back mount was an Arisawa OGOTO grenade launcher.

Its armour was polished to a mirror shine, glistening in the light from the build like obsidian glass. He'd spent much of his time as a Raven looking at and piloting the 03-AALIYAH frame, it was extremely familiar to him, but this machine was different. Visually identical but something about it unnerved him.

The choice of name hadn't eluded him either. He wondered when Victor chose it, considering its meaning.

Supplice.

A French word that he feared would come to define the rest of his life as it had already found itself in his heart.

Torture. Agony. Misery. Directly translated to English, it was a sickening word. Everything it embodied was rotten, twisted, broken.

There was no doubt in his mind that Victor knew exactly what he was doing. It was all engineered to remind Berlioz of his place. That Rayleonard was his only option now, that there was only suffering in his future, that there was no escaping it.

Victor began speaking before the initial shock of the unveiling wore off, "Now I know what you're thinking. 'Victor? This looks like any ordinary Armored Core, what is so different about it?'" A smirk worked its way onto his face as he was obviously enjoying himself, "You'd be entirely correct in saying it looks identical to a regular AALIYAH frame, however the difference lies inside the machine and in its pilot."

He shot a glance to Berlioz, who chose not to react, before continuing, "Unfortunately I can't show you Supplice's true power here and now as it would actually kill everyone here almost immediately."

That sent a wave of anxious looks and hushed whispers through the crowd and even Berlioz turned to look at Victor with an incredulous look on his face.

 _It would kill everyone here? Just what has Rayleonard created?_

He didn't get any longer to dwell on it as Victor carried on talking to the massed group looking down on them and Supplice.

"However, I can give you two things, the first being an invitation for everyone tomorrow to witness the first live combat demonstration of Supplice and Berlioz in action." Everyone's mood immediately returned to the bubbly excitable state it was in before, "The second," continued victor, "Is the name of the ability this particular Armored Core possesses, the only one of its kind."

They were all captivated.

"Developed by our Rayleonard's AkvaVit Research and Development division, we have come to call it, Primal Armour. It is this Primal Armour that you will see demonstrated tomorrow afternoon."

The applause started, a rolling thunder from above, showering Victor with undeserved praise. They worshiped the ground he walked on like he was a saint delivering glory from on high. It turned his stomach.

All of them, they stared at him like he was a show dog, put on display to be judged and graded. Reduced to an object, a possession. Something to be brought out to show off. Victor Rayleonard's pet, ready to bark on command.

There was a sickness in his mind and his body. It would never be cured by time or by medicine, he could only push forwards.

Berlioz looked away from the crowd back to Supplice. He felt like it was looking down at him as well. Perhaps they were more similar than he wished to care for.

Both products of the Test Pilot Program, both weapons created for a single purpose, both made to enact Victor's will with no hesitation.

They had been created for each other and one could not function without the other.

Berlioz was Supplice, and Supplice was Berlioz.


	8. The Line Begins to Blur

BFF Controlled Airspace, Transporter Hold

15:05

21/02/2106

The cockpit was dark, the monitors that would usually provide the necessary amount of light were on standby. Berlioz sat with his eyes closed, the dull hum of the transporter engines barely audible despite the silence otherwise.

He was still trying to acclimatise to Supplice, despite being a virtually identical model, it didn't have the well-worn and broken in feel that his previous AC had.

All of Supplice's edges were still sharp, the seat still overly firm and the harness holding him in had no give in it. Everything about it was slightly alien and unknown, it was unsettling.

The only noticeable difference he could see was a new panel sticking out from the right of the cockpit. It protruded slightly in front of the seat, replacing one of the secondary monitors that usually would have been mounted there.

On it, were several small metal switches, a lever and a display. Sitting in the cockpit with an AkvaVit engineer on a com line, she went over what exactly this panel did.

It was what controlled the Primal Armour that Victor had mentioned the day before, the system that he couldn't activate for fear of supposedly killing everyone around Supplice.

He quickly learnt why.

Primal Armour, or PA, he was told, was an experimental technology that used something called a Kojima Particle to create a protective field around whatever created it. She skimmed over the details, but what this meant to him as a pilot would change the way Armored Cores fought should it go mainstream.

Primal Armour could withstand far more damage than even the heaviest armour plating, it weighed effectively nothing and had no blind or weak spots.

As an AALIYAH pilot, he was painfully aware of his AC's thin and almost non-existent armour. It was necessary to maintain the frame's extremely high speed. PA negated this, meaning he now had an AC with extremely high defence and had the same incomparable manoeuvrability that the AALIYAH was known for.

However, the use of the PA field apparently came with side effects that could not be lightly ignored.

The source of the PA field, the Kojima Particle, was known to be extraordinarily toxic to all biological organisms, including the surrounding environment. It corrupted, polluted and killed everything around it, with no exception.

When using Primal Armour, Supplice would be a walking wasteland, leaving a not only a trail of bodies behind it, but a barren and twisted landscape void of life.

When he heard this, he made a mental note to only use the PA field when a sufficient distance from civilian populations. No need to risk their lives if he could help it.

It was also most likely the sole reason that it would never become a standard in ACs. Governor Archambault would never allow such a dangerous technology to spread through the Ravens under his watch. If they wanted to kill the world then they'd have to get rid of him first, not that was really possible.

He checked the watch on his wrist, the glow in the dark markers indicating the hands showed that he'd been sitting there for nearly six hours, he missed the private jet that could have probably covered this journey in a third of the time.

Victor never told him exactly what this demonstration was or where he was going, all he knew was that everyone at the event the night before was watching.

What Rayleonard was doing was actually in violation of the Raven's Declaration of Independence. Supplice wasn't registered with the Raven's Ark, making it an Armored Core not under the Raven's control. He had no Operator as the Ark didn't know this was even happening.

He dreaded to think what would happen to him if they discovered he was illegally operating outside of the Ark, under the direct orders of a Corporation CEO. If he wasn't exiled like Thermidor, then he'd most certainly lose his S-Rank status.

The com light blinked at him, a slow pulsing murky green. Sighing, Berlioz sat up from his slouch, the dull pain coming back in his joints and his left hand in particular.

Flicking the com switch, he said nothing, waiting for the other side to speak first. Eventually, Victor's voice came through, "Mr. Lamond, you've just entered the designated testing area, you will be dropping momentarily. I don't need to remind you of what will happen if you fail to follow instructions?"

"No," spat Berlioz, wishing he could kick Victor in his smug face through the com line but unfortunately current technology didn't allow for this.

There was a short pause before, "Good, don't disappoint me." At that, the line cut dead, leaving Berlioz in the silence again.

Knowing that he likely had minutes before he was dropped, he switched Supplice's system from idle to active, the monitors lighting up and blinding him slightly before his eyes adjusted.

As expected, a few minutes later, everything shifted as the gantry holding Supplice rolled towards the open hatch at the rear. His stomach twisted as he tried to imagine what Victor had planned for him.

The gantry came to a halt and the clasps holding Supplice came loose. He stood there, hands lightly on the controls, slowly swaying with the movement of the transporter.

Then, ever so slowly, he pushed Supplice over the edge.

Falling was strange. Those seconds of weightlessness, it wasn't something he ever really got used to, it was always unnerving. But after tumbling for a second, he fired Supplice's boosters, ensuring that he was upright as he fell.

Barely seconds later, he touched down, dust kicking up as he flared the boosters to near maximum to halt his descent.

Switching Supplice to combat mode, he finally took the time to actually look at where he was.

 _Wait, what…_

Barely two hundred metres in front of him was what looked like a forward operating base, a little ways in he could see the distinct barrels of BFF's long range support guns pointing skywards.

He opened the com channel to Victor, "Sir," he winced at having to say that to Victor, "There's a Bernard and Felix Foundation firebase in the test area? Was the drop information inaccurate?"

"No Mr. Lamond," came the sardonic reply, "That is your target. Wipe that base off the face of the Earth. If you contact us before the objective is complete, I will take that as an act of disobedience. Do you understand?"

He could see the base gates opening, soldiers, vehicles and MTs moving out towards him, weapons raised. That gut feeling was getting worse and worse.

There was no choice in the matter. He could only obey.

"I understand, Sir."

The moment the channel cut, Berlioz noticed the com light start blinking immediately. He didn't assume it was Victor this time, answering the incoming line, but saying nothing, waiting for whoever was trying to contact him to speak first.

Even if he had tried to say anything the person on the other end would likely have beaten him to it, their voice coming through the second the channel was open.

"This is Major Vollan, I am speaking to the pilot of the 03-AALIYAH Armored Core in front of the BFF Firebase NA034. As you have not begun hostilities I will assume you aren't here on a mission so I am obligated to inform you that you are violating Bernard and Felix Foundation territory. Identify yourself and your purpose here or we will fire on you."

This Major Vollan was an oddity, most soldiers would immediately open fire on an AC, jumping to the conclusion that the Raven had been sent to destroy them. That was evident in the faces of the soldiers ahead of him.

Even with minimal magnification, he could see the panic sending shivers through their body in the twitch of their rifle barrels.

The MT pilots kept looking side to side, making sure they weren't alone if it came to a fight. BFF's 044AC MT was on par with Rosenthal's TYPE-DULAKE MT frame, it was durable, mobile and flexible at mid to long range combat. A little expensive but some people preferred the comfort in a pricier product.

However it suffered the same flaw that all MTs had, that against an AC, they were only a distraction.

"Raven," the Major's voice rang loud in the cockpit, "Respond or we will open fire."

The BFF force readied their weapons, Supplice's Fire Control System warning him that he was being locked by an enemy FCS.

Berlioz had no words for this man, as the possibility of negotiation was already zero. He turned to the PA control panel.

Doing as the AkvaVit engineer had told him, he flicked two small switches, watching as several gauges on the display began to fill and a whine from behind him grew more audible. Those gauges indicated the saturation of Kojima Particles in the air around Supplice, as there needed to be an adequate level of particles for the field to stabilise.

Once they filled, he pulled the small level down, sending a massive electrical charge into the cloud of almost invisible Kojima Particles around Supplice.

The loose cloud of particles reacted to the charge, rushing to form a sphere around Supplice, gold and amber lightning arcing off the newly created field, striking the ground and discharging into the air.

The gauges on this display merged into a single bar, which now represented the combined integrity and density of the PA field. If it dropped below a certain level, the field would no longer be able to sustain itself and it would collapse, dispersing the Kojima Particles.

When the PA field flared to life, the BFF force took a unified step back, Berlioz finally spoke to the Major.

"I'm sorry Major."

"All units, fire at will!" The command was immediate and every soldier, MT and vehicle welcomed the chance to fire at the machine in front of them. The channel cut dead, the Major obviously seeing no reason to remain in contact with the enemy.

Berlioz's automatic reaction was to brace up, ready to evade the incoming fire. But he knew this was supposed to be a demonstration, meaning he had to show off what Supplice could do. Against every instinct telling him to move, he stood his ground.

As soon as the enemy rounds came within a few metres of his AC, every single one slammed into the PA field, disintegrating into yellow flashes. The field boiled them away entirely or deflected the distorted remains of the shell into the ground or sent them spiralling into the distance.

Even Berlioz inside Supplice couldn't believe it as he sat completely unharmed as the incoming fire dropped off, the BFF force realising their attack was completely ineffective.

Checking the PA panel quickly, he saw that he'd lost roughly thirty percent of the field's integrity, but it was slowly climbing again as the field was replenished with new Kojima Particles.

Now it was his turn, the enemy nervously backing away, looking at each other as if one of them had a better plan than running away.

Gripping the controls tightly, he raised both rifles, letting the FCS compensate for the numerous targets and provide slight assistance in tracking them.

Berlioz squeezed the triggers, each rifle kicking back from the recoil as rounds cut the BFF forces to pieces. MTs fell as their limbs and bodies were blown apart, vehicles erupted into smoke and flame as shell after shell ripped through them and the soldiers themselves were reduced to lumps of meat and red smears in the dust.

Two MTs escaped as their comrades were cut down, using their boosters to jump over the FOB wall, crouching down low to avoid fire.

Berlioz didn't miss a beat, the second the forces outside the wall were destroyed, he hunkered Supplice down and switched to the grenade launcher, the long weapon folding over his right shoulder.

He fired roughly where the MT on the left hand side had hidden. Supplice's frame flexed against the recoil, dust flying up from the muzzle blast as the massive shell cleared the distance in a second.

It slammed into the wall which disappeared in a fireball that threw black smoke and flames into the sky. The flimsy barricade was completely destroyed along with the MT hiding behind it, pieces of concrete and metal scattering around the explosion's heart.

Turning Supplice slightly to hit the second MT, he saw it burn into the air, the barrel of its rifle blazing as a smattering of shells slammed into the PA field. At that distance, it only managed to slow the regeneration speed, not even depleting it.

The FCS compensated for the moving target, tracking it with the grenade launcher. He pulled the trigger again, the AC twisting against the force of firing such a massive weapon.

The MT didn't stand a chance, the shell hit it square in the chest, the blast completely obscuring it from his vision. Not that it mattered, virtually nothing survived aside from a few scraps of armour that trailed thin black smoke as they fell from the sky.

The com light blinking at him, snapped him out of the daze he'd slipped into and Berlioz accepted the channel.

"Mr. Lamond," it was Victor, "It appears that BFF have redirected a nearby Raven to support the facility. Estimates put it around five minutes away."

"Understood, I'll have the firebase guns disabled before they arrive."

"No, Mr. Lamond," snapped Victor, "You do not understand. You have a new objective. Eliminate the enemy Raven. That will be an adequate test of yours and Supplice's capabilities."

Berlioz wanted to challenge him, to ask why this was necessary when destroying the firebase guns would complete the mission. But he had to accept that he could no long have such a freedom. This was how things went.

No questions asked.

"I understand." He muttered and Victor cut the channel. As the FOB wasn't his objective anymore, he simply stood and waited.

Part of him expected the BFF Major to contact him again, but it was likely that they either evacuated the FOB's senior personnel or they had moved to a more secure location inside the base's limits.

The lack of an Operator was beginning to become more and more irritating, usually he would have been given information as to the target's incoming direction. Instead he had to resort to just standing around, potentially waiting for something to hit him out of the blue.

An Operator also would have been able to inform him of the Raven and their AC as all mission records were public aside from the exclusively contracted Ravens who had privacy measures put in place by their signing Corporation, meaning you could only see their success rate, not the actual content of their missions.

A few minutes passed before he saw it, high above him, the distinctive shape of a transporter passing over from the north-east.

Only seconds later, something fell out of the back, dropping rapidly.

 _Forgive me Raven, this isn't going to be pleasant for either of us…_

In a typical fashion, the other AC's boosters flared, bringing it to a slow descent before it alighted on the ground, putting itself between Berlioz and the FOB.

It was a TYPE-JUDITH frame, a lightweight limited test production version of the TYPE-HOGIRE frame that Rosenthal developed built around the TYPE-HOGIRE's core. The TYPE-JUDITH was designed by their Omer Science Division subsidiary, however this particular AC had kept the TYPE-HOGIRE head, instead of replacing it for the complete frame.

In each hand it had an asymmetrical pair of Rosenthal assault rifles and a Omer designed missile launcher on its right back mount with an external radar on the other.

In terms of performance and design it was actually similar to Supplice, lightweight and using twin rifles as a primary armament. This battle would be fairly balanced if Berlioz was using an ordinary 03-AALIYAH.

The moment its feet hit dirt, the green com light blinked, Berlioz accepting the channel.

"Now this is new, never had the enemy give me the courtesy of waiting on my arrival. Feels like a gentlemanly duel. Is this your first mission, Raven?" His voice was somewhat cheery, like he was already on friendly terms with Berlioz, but he didn't recognise it. The other Raven continued, "Let me introduce myself then, I'm Lowen, B-Rank 2 and this here is Fox Lie. You are…?"

Berlioz sighed before answering, "I'm sorry Lowen, but I can't give you that information."

"Trying the whole mysterious mercenary thing?" said the other Raven, a hint of annoyance in his voice, "That doesn't work out when I can get my Operator to find out who you are…"

He trailed off suddenly, a pause following before, "Ok, who the hell are you? The Ark has no record of your AC and no mission request was filed for this area. You need to answer me immediately because it's starting to look more and more like you're an unregistered AC user."

"Again, I'm sorry," said Berlioz knowing exactly where this encounter was going now, "But I can't give you that information."

"That's fine," came the reply, a sudden change in tone that almost made him think that somebody else was speaking to him, "I've been given orders to bring you in, so don't make this difficult you fake!"

Berlioz's instincts told him to move immediately and this time he complied, allowing himself to sink into the mind set needed to survive combat this fast. Both ACs became a blur, blasting sideways as they weaved between exchanges of rifle fire and swarms of missiles, Supplice using countermeasures to deflect the warheads as best he could. The two of them scattering hundreds of shell casings across the desert.

It was now that he could feel the difference in using Supplice. It was subtle before but clear as day when pushing the machine to its limits.

His old AC had always been responsive, but when approaching the upper levels of its capabilities, Berlioz could tell it was struggling to keep up with control inputs. The mechanical joints would wear and warp under the strain, slowing him down by fractions of seconds that were vital to staying alive when hurling around at hundreds of kilometres per hour.

Supplice was entirely different. No matter how hard he pushed it, it remained just as fluid and responsive with no decline in performance. It didn't feel like he was piloting an AC, it was more like the machine was an extension of his own body.

"Jesus," Lowen's sounded strained, "You're no rookie, just who are you!?"

Equally, Berlioz was surprised at how long a B-Ranking Raven had lasted against him. Lowen was maintaining a suitable distance to utilise all of his weapons, whereas Berlioz was reduced to his rifles alone as he wouldn't be able to brace himself to use the grenade launcher. Also the Fox Lie's radar meant that he had pin-point tracking of Berlioz's location, making it difficult to shake him.

Although in his own defence he was working with a handicap.

The dull pain in his body had flared up under the G-forces. In particular his left hand felt like it was being twisted in half as he had to grip the controls so tight to keep a hold of them in the extreme movement.

Both of his knees felt like they were going to give out at any second, but he knew that if he eased up for even a moment, Lowen could claim the upper hand in this battle.

Suddenly, they landed the first hit on each other simultaneously.

A burst of rifle fire caught Fox Lie's right arm, the thin armour coming apart and the frame underneath splintering under the intense force. The limb broke away, taking one of Lowen's rifles with it.

A pair of missiles as well as a hail of rifle fire slammed into Supplice. Had it been any other AC, Berlioz would likely have been in real trouble.

Unfortunately for Lowen, the missiles and the rifle fire washed over Supplice's PA, dropping the integrity by twenty percent in a single blow but the field held strong at eighty percent, having recovered entirely from the BFF attack earlier.

"What…" came Lowen's voice, a waiver audible, "What the hell is that. What the fuck are you!?"

Fox Lie raised its remaining rifle, but Berlioz was faster on the draw, his BFF rifle spitting out a single round that caught Lowen's AC in the head.

It came apart like overripe fruit, temporarily blinding the machine and its pilot, Fox Lie staggering backwards from the impact. The loss of its head also cut it off from long range communication.

Now at a massive disadvantage, Lowen took a step back, "To hell with this, you're a goddamn monster!"

Fox Lie spun on the spot and Berlioz could see its OB open up a charge building before it roared to life, the AC burning away from him a maximum speed.

He'd won, hopefully proving Supplice's strength and his skill to Victor's expectations, opening a channel to him, he said, "Sir, the enemy AC is defeated, moving on to-"

"Do you honestly think you can lie to me, Mr. Lamond? I can clearly see that the target is still moving. Your objective is to kill that Raven. Should he escape, I will declare you in violation of your contract and you know the consequences should you disappoint me."

There was no chance for Berlioz to even answer as the line was cut short.

How could he justify this? What Victor asked of him was murder, there was no other way around it. His enemy had disengaged and looked to leave the combat zone but his orders were to pursue and kill someone that could no longer be considered a combatant.

No law existed saying that Ravens couldn't kill each other, but they would go out of their way to prevent that from happening because at the end of the day, they all had to live together.

This was tantamount to killing your own family.

The line between what was right and what he was doing was beginning to blur, the black was bleeding through into the white. If Alicia was to survive, his morals would have to change.

A sickening hole was opening up inside him.

It was no longer a case of what is right, versus what was wrong.

It was now, what will keep Alicia alive, against what would result in her death.

With this in place, his options were narrowed to one, single choice.

Berlioz braced Supplice into the ground, facing the fleeing Fox Lie, switching to the grenade launcher on his back mount.

Locking the distant target, the FCS compensated for the long range, the reticule turning green to indicate that the target was not hostile, engaging the safety to prevent accidental firing.

Even a machine knew what he was doing was wrong. Supplice, in its own way was telling him that he shouldn't do this.

Berlioz manually overrode the FCS's judgement, the reticule turning red.

There was a moment's hesitation before he squeezed the trigger, Supplice twisting against the recoil as the weapon kicked back, the shell leaving a trail of white vapour behind it as it sailed through the air.

A few seconds later, it connected with Fox Lie's back, the AC disappearing in the blast. After the smoke cleared, he used his own OB to fly over to the impact site, dreading the image he imagined.

Berlioz cut the OB just before he arrived, driving Supplice's heels into the basked soil and putting its thrusters into reverse to slow him down in time.

Lowen's AC wasn't at the point of impact which was marked by a smouldering crater in the dusty ground. Pieces of still burning metal were scattered around, growing in size and density until he saw the wreck of Fox Lie, laying twisted around a hundred metres from where Supplice was standing.

Slowly, he walked over to the ruined machine, faint marks in the ground between them indicated that Lowen had tried to drag himself away.

Fox Lie was on its back, its lower half was a mess of metal and wiring trailing behind it like entrails. The damaged right arm had been removed at the shoulder, the limb nowhere to be seen. Both the missile launcher and the radar on its back mounts were gone and it had ditched the destroyed left hand rifle a short way between the blast point and its current position.

While the AC's primary optics were destroyed, ACs did have a handful of secondary optics they could use to see that were mounted on the exterior of the core armour.

As warped and cracked as the armour was, it was mostly intact, meaning that Lowen could likely see him.

"You…" came his voice, distorted somewhat over the still open channel from earlier, "You bastard. You'd shoot a… a Raven in the back? You're… a coward. Aren't you?"

Lowen's breathing was laboured, shallow, like he was running out of air. He was probably injured, trapped in the cockpit due to the damage sustained.

Berlioz moved Supplice up to Fox Lie's left hand side, stepping down on the AC's mangled lower half to prevent it from moving.

He levelled the right hand rifle at a crack in the core's armour.

Quietly, Berlioz spoke.

"My name… My name is Berlioz Lamond. I am the S-Rank 4 Raven and now the pilot of the Armored Core Supplice. I am currently under observation by Rayleonard as their contracted Raven. Under the terms of my contract, I am obligated to obey any command given to me."

Berlioz didn't know if Victor could hear him, but he felt the need to at least give Lowen this if he was to die here.

"I did not willingly accept this contract. But as it stands, he ordered me to end your life and I cannot afford to pay the price of failure."

"No, you're not Berlioz." Spat Lowen, "I didn't know him personally, but everyone I knew respected you. We all thought… all thought you were a good person at heart, even if you didn't show your face much."

He heaved and coughed, groaning as he continued, "If you really are him, then… I guess we were wrong. That good men are… a myth now."

"You're right," He pushed the barrel of the rifle into the crack, "But I'll try and make this quick."

"No, you can't. My brother, he needs me to look after him!" The urgency in his voice was audible even as he grew quieter.

Fox Lie's remaining arm weakly batted at the rifle in its chest, Berlioz dropped the weapon in Supplice's left arm, using the now free hand to pin Fox Lie's down.

In this position, he was now kneeling over the other AC, looking down on it like he was going to drive the rifle through it.

 _Just like Thermidor did to those pilots…_

He couldn't avoid the thought that invaded his head, bitter and foul. A wave of self-loathing washed over him, that sickness in his chest growing as he realised what he was about to do.

"Rayleonard," said Berlioz quietly, "Has a gun, to my sister's head. If I let you live, she dies. I can't let that happen."

There was a moment of silence before a choked sob came though.

"I never… Never thought I'd met someone capable of making that choice. I should have realised they… They wouldn't be human."

Berlioz applied pressure to the trigger.

"I'm sorry, Lowen."

"You're not sorry," he suddenly growled through the sobbing.

Supplice's rifle discharged, a single shell casing spinning away into the dirt.

The com channel went dead, static hissing back at him.

White noise filling his head.


	9. The Raven

Raven's Ark, Berlioz's Quarters

09:50

28/03/2106

It was cold.

Even with a black hoodie on over his jumpsuit, backed into the corner of his room on the bed, Berlioz couldn't stop shivering. The heating in his room had broken a few days before hand, but he had come to suspect that it wasn't just wear and tear that caused the fault.

Especially considering the engineering department had flat out to his face refused to repair it until they felt like it. This didn't surprise him though.

When you get a reputation on the Ark, there isn't a soul that doesn't hear about it.

Going out to eat in the cafeteria had been virtually impossible for nearly a month. The last time he'd gone, security had to be called as someone had tried to drive a knife into his back.

The pieces of food or trash thrown at him were of a lesser concern, but the Governor had seen fit to authorise the kitchen staff in delivering meals to his room so that he didn't have to potentially lose his life trying to get a meal.

A tray with a partially eaten breakfast was on the floor, by now the leftovers were stone cold but his appetite in the last few weeks had declined to the point that the Ark's medical teams had little choice but to prescribe him supplements.

At least they were under the Hippocratic Oath, they had to help him no matter what they thought of him.

Berlioz had seen a less severe version of this happen before, a handful of times. Under the circumstances, it wasn't surprising, but his case was unique.

When Ravens took another Raven's life, they became outcasts, shunned by the Ark and everyone on it.

It didn't take long for the offending Raven to leave the Ark, usually unable to cope with the exclusion. They would be slowly cut off from everyone as the other Ravens and the Ark staff eventually pretended they didn't exist.

The only exception was the Ninebreaker. They were considered fair game as in the past, the only way the position was passed down was the challenger killing the current Ninebreaker.

Raven deaths were uncommon, the vast majority of the time, it was an accident. Ravens could get carried away in combat and on rare occasions could cause fatal damage to the other pilot without intending to. There were the handful of times that a Raven was actually killed by Corporation or independent forces, but this usually only applied to rookies and low ranking Ravens.

Then, there was Berlioz. The only confirmed case of a Raven deliberately killing another in cold blood.

In every other case of a Raven killing another, they only ever did it once before leaving or dying themselves.

As of yesterday, he had taken five lives since signing Rayleonard's contract.

Victor had gone to the trouble of putting an Operator on his payroll, bribing her to consistently work with Berlioz to ensure that someone was watching him and that he was following orders.

For the time being, Victor had made it very clear that he wanted Berlioz to demonstrate just how superior Supplice was. His standing orders were, that if an opposing Raven is deployed against him, they cannot leave the battlefield alive. Every Raven that stands between Rayleonard and Victor's vision of a glorious future must die by Berlioz's hand.

The Operator didn't care what he did, meaning either she was just as twisted as Victor, or she was being paid a ludicrous amount of money to keep her opinions to herself.

A side effect of this was his ranking almost immediately shot to S-Rank 2. This was the highest he could go on merit alone.

Thinking about Operators drew his thoughts back to Fiona, as she had visited a few days earlier.

In a small way, he wished she hadn't come. He hated the fact that she had to see him in his current condition. She'd come to tell him in person that she'd completed her Operator training and was starting work in a week.

Had it been anyone else, he would have ignored the door alarm, but when he heard her calling out to him from outside the door, Berlioz figured that he should answer.

Obviously, she was expecting the same person that she spoke to last year. Instead she got… Whatever he was now.

Her expression said it all even if she hid it behind kind words and a forced smile. There was no way to stop that initial flash that shot across her face.

What happened to you?

It had been awhile since he last looked in the mirror, apparently his physical state was growing to match his physical one. Not that he had the willpower to actually check what she had seen.

On the bedside cabinet in front of him, his phone buzzed, bringing him back to the cold reality around him.

It took him a second, but eventually he uncurled his knees from his chest and reached over, checking the caller ID before answering. It was the Operator.

"What do you want," he muttered, pushing himself back into the corner, the phone under his hood.

The reply was instant, "I have a mission for you. You need to report to the Hangar immediately." Her voice was clinical and emotionless, perhaps she was actually a machine.

He scoffed, "You called me just for that? Why not send it through the mission board like everyone else?"

"Because this is a mission that wouldn't be accepted by the ratification board on the Ark. It comes directly from Mr. Rayleonard himself. He says… To consider this a final test of your loyalty to him. That if you do this for him, perhaps he will loosen the leash a little."

Berlioz didn't even know what she was asking of him and he was already anxious. For the Ark's ratification board to reject a mission request by a Corporation or any independent power, it would have to be something horrific.

But this worry was in vein, because regardless of the mission's task, he would have to accept.

"Fine," he spat, "What's the mission?"

"You will find the mission details in Supplice's cockpit." She said in the same flat tone.

Berlioz let out a long sigh before, "Are you not even going to give me the usual, 'Do you accept the mission?' Bullshit?"

"There is no choice for you, Berlioz." With that, she hung up on him, leaving him alone in the silence of his room again.

With no alternative, he slowly crawled off the bed, making his way to the front door.

Before leaving, he made sure that the hood was pulled as far forwards as possible, so people wouldn't be able to recognise him. It wasn't fool proof and it didn't stop attention being drawn to him, but it was better that people simply wondered who the hooded man in a Raven's jumpsuit was, rather than immediately recognising him as 'Berlioz the Murderer'.

At least that's what someone had screamed at him as they were dragged away by Ark security. The same thing was scrawled in paint on his quarter's door the next day.

Door security had been suggested but Berlioz was confident that it wouldn't go further than that. At least he'd thought that before the person in the café tried to kill him.

Thankfully today, he made it to the Hangar without incident.

As he walked in, he saw several Hangar staff crowded around the transporter that currently held Supplice, sat by the exit onto the Runway.

Berlioz walked over to them, pulling his hood down as he approached, "Is there a problem here?" he said, keeping his voice low enough that only those around him heard.

The second they saw who was speaking, everyone except the Hangar chief took a step back, putting space between them and Berlioz.

Standing his ground, the grizzled man who looked to be around forty waved some pieces of paper at Berlioz, saying, "Yeah, we've got a problem. I got orders from an Operator to prep your AC but she had no mission code or request number. She got real shirty with me when I said I wasn't doing shit without the proper paperwork in place."

He crossed his arms, a defiant expression on his face.

The chief was just doing his job, like anyone else should be.

"Is Supplice ready to go?" muttered Berlioz.

A flash of surprise shot across the chief's face before it returned to the usual frown, "Yeah, it is. But you're not stepping foot in that-"

Berlioz had already closed the distance between them while the chief was speaking. He reached out and grabbed the chief by the collar of his jumpsuit.

"Stand. Aside. Chief." Berlioz growled, his face inches from the chief's.

Apparently that, combined with his current appearance and growing reputation was enough to convince the Hangar chief to let it slide this time.

Moments later he was sat in Supplice, the transporter rolling out onto the runway. Just like the Operator said, there was a simple white envelope tucked into a crack between a control panel and a monitor.

He plucked it out and tore it open, a single piece of folded paper was inside.

It was plain, save for a printed message.

 _In an unused storage facility owned by Rayleonard, roughly thirty thousand people have illegally taken possession of and set up residence in the facility._

 _Deal with them._

 _You know the price of failure._

Berlioz read it again. And again. That old sickness clawing at his insides again as he realised what exactly he was being told to do.

 _Thirty… Thirty thousand people…_

There was no way around it, Victor was ordering the slaughter of thousands just to prove a point. Any other justification was false, this was to ensure his subservience.

He paid attention to the lack of official marking or any sort of recognisable element that could tie this to Rayleonard. Victor wanted to distance himself from this, knowing that he could never be associated with indiscriminate slaughter.

No words could describe how he felt, the gnawing, clawing sickness in his stomach that was going to rip him apart.

Berlioz could only endure it as the transporter took off, roaring into the sky.

#####

The last few hours of the flight felt like they were travelling in slow motion, time stretching as his mind was consumed with the thought of what he was going to do.

It was surreal, how could he possibly do this? It was monstrous, vile and inhuman. He had been wrong to believe the Operator, this wasn't a test of his loyalty. Victor wanted to see how far he would go.

The line had grown more and more indistinct as he had killed and killed. White and black were disappearing beneath the red he spilt.

However, that difference was clear as day here.

There were no grey areas, no place for muddled morals.

This would be a line crossed, with no margin for error. The point of no return lay before him and Berlioz had to make the choice to either hold that line and sacrifice his sister, or to cross it, taking thousands of lives to protect her.

The com light in the cockpit blinked at him, bringing Berlioz out of his thoughts. Accepting the channel he muttered, "Berlioz here."

"Raven," it was the Operator, "Drop is in ten minutes. Can you confirm you understand the mission objective?"

Even she didn't want to say it, the sickness suddenly turned into bitter anger, "Understand? Do I understand it!? Yeah, I can understand it clear as day. The mission objective is murder, plain and simple! Is that understanding enough for you?"

There was silence, before, "Would you like me to report you to Mr. Rayleonard? Verbal abuse is a sign of disobedience after all."

The anger bled away into a tightening in his chest. He had no outlet, no way to try and process how he felt. Anything and everything could be used as a weapon against him, a rod to beat him into continuing forwards no matter the cost.

"No." He almost hissed.

"Good. There have been no deployments against you so far, so the Ark is unaware of the current mission. You should expect no resistance. Confirm mission start on touch down."

She sounded like any other Operator, like she had somehow managed to detach herself from what was actually happening.

"Operator," said Berlioz quietly, "The people in the facility, do you know who they are?" There was a moment of silence before the reply came back.

"Would you feel better knowing?" She asked, no waiver in her voice.

"If I'm going to be killing these people, I think I deserve to know who I am killing." He hated it, but he didn't want to be detached like her. Whatever shred of humanity he retained after this, he needed to remember it and this was just a small part of that process.

A slight sigh came back before she answered him.

"A nearby Leonemeccanica population centre was attacked last month. The survivors of the attack marched through the desert for a week before finding Rayleonard's facility."

"They're…" He choked on the words, "They're refugees. You want me to commit to the wholesale slaughter of thirty thousand refugees?"

The line cut dead.

Even she had nothing to say to that, because she already knew the answer.

The familiar sound of the transporter ramp lowering reverberated through Supplice and the gantry began to shift forwards.

Everything was pushing him towards what he didn't want. The last few months had been a downward spiral that he hadn't seen until it was too late to escape.

After a minute, the clamps holding Supplice in place came loose, the AC wobbling slightly, now unsecure.

Without any input from him, Supplice lost its balance, toppling over the edge of the ramp.

Almost immediately he fell through a dense cloud layer, as he passed through he became aware that the mission area was currently in the middle of a storm, flashes of lightning striking the ground in the distance..

He touched down, Supplice sinking slightly into the mud that was churned up and charred by Supplice's lower boosters.

Berlioz opened the channel to the Operator.

"Confirming mission start," He spat with as much bitterness as he could muster, "Supplice switching to combat mode."

There was no reply, the channel simply closing after he spoke.

On Supplice's HUD, a marker turned him towards what looked like a solitary mountain in the middle of the desert. He could only see it in the dark of the storm as it was marginally darker than the sky behind it, occasion bursts of light from lightning silhouetting it. The main display was working to compensate for the poor lighting.

There was no need to engage Supplice's Primal Armour as there was no threat to him this time. But if he hesitated too long, Victor would know, so Berlioz pushed Supplice's throttle, the machine fluidly following his command.

The mountain was barely a kilometre away when the com light blinked on, Berlioz accepted the channel, "What is it? If you w-"

The Operator cut him off, "Berlioz, you have incoming. A single signal straight ahead, closing at high speed."

He immediately threw Supplice into a full reverse burn, digging its heels into the mud, sending a spray of muck ahead of him.

"Can you identify the signal?" He asked, wondering what exactly would be making a beeline for him during a storm in the middle of nowhere.

"Give me a second, it's slowing down but it will be in visual range momentarily." Berlioz left her to it, scanning the darkness ahead, waiting for any sign of the incoming target.

Then he saw a dim glow, growing closer at a worrying pace.

"I have a visual," he said to the Operator, "I can't confirm what it is because of the weather." As he said this, the glow fell to an almost imperceptible level and it dropped to ground level barely a hundred metres ahead of him.

 _Weird, that sort of reminded me of…_

Lightning lit up the sky, light bouncing off the bronze and gold coloured AC that stood before him.

His heart sank low.

 _Oh Christ no… Please no…_

He knew what this meant. His orders were absolute. Any Raven that stood between Victor and his dreams would die.

"Raven," said the Operator quietly, "I'm patching an incoming signal though."

A second later, the last voice he wanted to hear rang loud in his head.

"Berlioz. This is Wynne D. Fanchon, pilot of the Armored Core Reiterpallasch. Turn Supplice around and await transport back to the Raven's Ark."

 _Why? Why did she have to come?_

Reiterpallasch, the Armored Core belonging to the current Ninebreaker. It was a one of a kind design built as a testbed for a new Leonemeccanica frame, the Y11-LATONA.

She used a laser blade on her left arm that had a modified emitter, resulting in a much wider blade. What concerned him the most; was the rifle in her right hand.

It was the only functional prototype of Leonemeccanica's experimentation with railgun technology. The RG03-KAPTEYN was this weapon, an unstoppable rifle that could cleanly punch through any AC's armour.

Berlioz had his doubts that even Supplice's PA could deflect a shot with that much kinetic energy.

He needed to answer her, so he said, "Wynne, please, stand aside. I don't know why you're here but you need to go."

Perhaps if she left without a struggle, Victor would let her be spared?

"You know exactly why I'm here," she said calmly.

The Operator came though just after Wynne finished, "I have no record of a mission request for Wynne today, she wasn't ordered here by anyone. She likely diverted an Ark bound flight from the Venture."

That meant Wynne was going doing this alone, without consent of her signing Corporation. It didn't answer how she knew he would be here though.

Berlioz decided to ask, "So how'd you know I was here?"

"Ever since you were announced to be Rayleonard's new exclusive Raven, I thought something was wrong with the entire thing. They were putting on too much of a song and dance for your usual signing. I had your com lines monitored, your mission details and whereabouts forwarded to me."

 _So she was spying on me the whole time?_

Wynne continued, "When you just up and started killing Ravens, I knew that Rayleonard had to be behind it. When your AC left the Ark with no mission file and you start talking to your Operator about killing refugees, I knew exactly where you were going."

"Really?" said Berlioz in disbelief, "How could you have possibly known?"

There was a moment of silence before, "Because I'm the one that led them here. My mission was to find them temporary shelter until Leonemeccanica could work out the migration process for this many people. They needed our help and they are under my protection until they are safe and have a home once again."

Victor couldn't have planned this better if he'd tried. Not only would he be solidifying Berlioz's conviction to protecting his sister, he would bring down Leonemeccanica's ace in the hole, putting Rayleonard in prime position to usurp them from their role as leading Corporation.

His hands were shaking. It was all wrong, so wrong.

"Wynne," Berlioz said with his voice shaking, "I'm begging you, stand aside. I need… I need to do this."

"You need to?" She spat back, "You don't need to do anything Berlioz. This is a clear choice you are making, a choice to commit violence against innocent people! Just like the choice I make to be here. You don't think I'm sacrificing something? Just by standing here I risk losing everything."

Her words cut him, their truth was harsh and unyielding. She was absolutely right of course.

"How selfish are you? What could be worth this? I would gladly lay down my life for even a single soul that lies behind me. But you are more than content to take them all for your own petty needs."

That was the truth of the matter.

His mission was selfish. The massacre of thousands for the survival of one. Her mission was selfless. Her life for the safety of those same thousands.

There was no comparison because he had already rendered it invalid. Before Wynne, he was the villain.

"So," she said, her AC shifting slightly in the dark, "What will it be, Berlioz? Can you do what you know is right? Or are you going to give in to your selfish pride?"

He was frozen in his seat. Could he do it? After everything could he abandon Alicia and leave this place?

Would that make him a better person?

Could anything do that?

 _…I guess we were wrong…_

No, nothing could.

Berlioz had started walking this path and he would see it through to the end. If he had to live up to the monster that everyone believed him to be then that was what he would do.

His life now had a single purpose.

Keep Alicia safe.

He flicked the two switches to his right.

If Berlioz fell here, then there would be no way to tell if she would be left alive. The only way he could protect her was to fight on with every last breath in his body.

He gritted his teeth, shutting out the noise in his head. This fight would be unlike any other and every fibre of his body needed to be focused on the AC ahead of him.

The Operator's voice came through on her channel, that same dead tone, detached from everything except the mission.

"Objective parameters have changed," there was a pause before, "New primary objective, destroy Reiterpallasch, kill the Ninebreaker."

Gripping the small lever on the panel, he growled.

"Target verified."

He dropped the lever.

"Commencing hostilities."

The very second he finished speaking, Reiterpallasch shot into the air, its railgun raised with a crackling charge building along the split barrel.

"Then you shall die here, Berlioz! Reiterpallasch, engaging!"

Supplice began shifting to one side, its boosters flaring, but Wynne had already pulled the trigger.

A bolt of fire ripped forth from the weapon, striking the upper side of Supplice's PA with a sound that matched the thunder of the storm they fought in.

The entire PA field shone gold under the force of the impact, arcs of electrical discharge striking the ground as the displaced energy was bled off into the ground.

It held, the railgun slug deflecting away because of the shallow angle of attack.

Already sweating, Berlioz checked the PA console, the display showing that even the glancing blow from Wynne's railgun was enough to drop the field's integrity by thirty five percent alone.

At forty percent it would begin to destabilise and at anything less than twenty it would completely collapse. Meaning another hit like that was enough to take it down to critical levels.

At all costs, if Berlioz wanted to win this fight then he couldn't allow another blow to land. Raising both rifles, he squeezed the triggers, the deep rumble of automatic weapon fire shaking the cockpit.

Supplice's optics had finally adjusted to the low light environment, but the rain was still somewhat of an issue.

Reiterpallasch darted from side to side in the air, raining down rounds with her railgun, the slug blowing mud and silt skywards from the force of the blast. Near-misses were still enough to slowly erode Supplice's PA, the field dropping to forty five percent.

Berlioz stuck to the ground, sliding around, changing direction as often as possible to throw off her aim. It was working for the time being, but his body was beginning to ache, old wounds flaring up with pain.

Knowing that he needed to change the fight in his favour, Berlioz charged his OB, kicking off from the ground at the same time, angling Supplice so its back was almost to the ground.

It had the desired effect, as Berlioz was fired upwards passing Wynne as he sailed away into the air. He twisted Supplice, cutting the booster and switched to the grenade launcher on Supplice's back.

With not even the time to offer a prayer that this would work, he pulled the trigger.

There was a horrific sound of metal warping as the launcher kicked against the momentum of Supplice's mid-air turn. A warning flashed up on his screen notifying him that the weapon mounting had failed. Just as he feared, he caught a glimpse of the grenade launcher spinning away into the dark.

But the round flew true, catching Wynne by surprise as it caught her right arm, punching right through the limb without even detonating.

When it slammed into the mud and remained there, Berlioz had to assume the shell was a dud and had failed to fuse properly.

Still, even with the dud shell he'd removed Reiterpallasch's only ranged weapon, leaving her only with a laser blade. However he was now reliant on his rifles alone.

Without realising it, the two of them had managed to travel virtually to the blast doors of the facility, the mountain looming over them and the rain still driving down.

"You really are committed to this, aren't you?" She hissed at him, her back to the blast doors.

"I'm sorry Wynne, but this is something I have to see through to the end." He said after catching his breath.

She gave a short, harsh laugh, "Don't give me that crap. I should have known better long ago."

"I never meant for this to happen!" Shouted Berlioz, almost pleadingly, "None of this!"

Reiterpallasch suddenly lunged forwards, laser blade lit a pale green.

"Then give up, give in! You know what is right and wrong yet you still choose yourself over others!"

The blade missed, but it passed so close to Supplice's PA field that amber electricity sparked off and connected with the glowing edge.

Berlioz shot backwards, firing with both rifles as Wynne's AC tried to weave between the hail of fire. That glowing blade seemingly itching to cut into Supplice's frame.

Rounds cut into Reiterpallasch's armour, half of the head being blown away and the left leg's internal frame collapsing, bringing the AC down as the limb gave way under the strain.

Berlioz brought Supplice to a stop, a move that he immediately regretted as Wynne used the remaining boosters on the mangled leg to maintain balance.

If he couldn't finish her, then she would catch up.

The Y11-LATONA was lighter and faster than even Supplice's tuned 03-AALIYAH frame, it easily matched his pace and was gaining ground every second they spent spinning around in the churned up filth.

An idea struck him.

He charged Supplice's OB, blasting past Reiterpallasch's right hand side. Wynne lashed out with her blade, but swinging from the left arm meant she didn't have the reached to connect with Supplice's body.

However, alarmingly Berlioz was aware that the majority of her laser blade passed through the PA field with absolutely no resistance.

Glad that he didn't think of trying to use the PA to block the attack, he spun on the spot, maintaining the momentum from the OB.

Wynne was off balance from that swing. Reiterpallasch's missing arm and the destroyed leg had thrown the AC's centre of gravity out as well as reducing its balance considerably. She staggered when the melee attack she was counting on didn't connect with its intended target.

For a split second, Supplice's gunsights lined up with the core of her AC.

 _I'm…_

 _…You're not sorry…_

No, he wasn't. You couldn't be sorry if you knew what you were doing.

Berlioz fired, the rounds cleaving through the front of Wynne's AC, the force of it sending Reiterpallasch spinning away, tumbling over with the combined momentum of the failed laser blade swing.

It brought her within metres of the facility blast doors, the broken and mangled frame of Reiterpallasch, dragging itself towards them.

Supplice followed her as she rolled Reiterpallasch over, her back to the door, Berlioz now able to see the damage to Wynne's AC.

Virtually the entire front of the core had been blown away, Wynne herself visible in the cockpit seat.

Most of her was anyway.

It looked like her lower half was pinned by the forward control panel that had been crushed inwards from the fall after Berlioz shot her. Her left arm was a bloody, ruined mess that wasn't properly attached anymore.

He dropped Supplice's PA, there was no need for it now.

Wynne sat staring up at him, breaths coming laboured and shallow, red covered her, making her matted hair stick to her face.

"You…" She started, trying to maintain consciousness, "You can still stop this. You can… can turn around and let them live."

Her condition was clear as day, as she struggled to even speak.

Wynne was dying before him.

"Please, Berlioz," her voice was raspy, "Don't do this."

The adrenaline had burnt up and the hollow sickness had returned in its place as he realised he was once again standing at that line.

"I can't do that, Wynne." He muttered, almost hoping she couldn't hear him, "I have no choice."

"You think that… You have no choice? No Berlioz… You always had a choice. Every step you took towards this point… Was made by you."

Standing before her broken body, he couldn't deny her words. There were so many times he could have turned back. Every single time he had chosen to put himself and what he wanted first with no regard for anyone in his path.

His personal crusade to protect Alicia had already cost so many lives. He consciously made the decision to pull the trigger every single time because he believed her life outweighed those he was taking.

It all came down to that in the end. He valued her life more than others, because to him, losing Alicia was a greater price to pay than staining his hands red.

Behind those gates was the line to cross, the last set of scales to weigh his choice on. Despite the almost tearing guilt in his chest, a pain that threatened to rip him apart, Berlioz knew he would tip those scales in his favour every single time.

No matter the cost.

He was fighting back the swelling in his throat, trying to maintain his composure. But, looking down at the spiteful gaze burning from Wynne's eyes, his resistance was crumbling.

"I'm sorry, Wynne, but-"

"Just shut up… Just fucking shut up!" She somehow managed to start shouting, her voice filling the cockpit and his head, "I can see you now… I can see you for what you really are."

She heaved a great breath, "You're a goddamn monster! An animal blindly following orders that cares for no one but yourself! I knew that one day… My life would come to a bitter end, but to lose it to your hands? It… Sickens me. You sicken me."

Berlioz couldn't hold the tears back as he raised Supplice's right hand rifle, levelling the barrel at Wynne's body.

"Congratulations Berlioz… This is where your conviction, violence and selfish pride have brought you."

She leaned out of the seat, visibly crying through the pain as she reach out to him with her remaining arm, "You'll never be… Free of this. It will crush your soul until the very day you die and… Believe me that day will come, just like mine today."

Her words dripped with contempt as she spat at him, "You'll never be able to bear it. Today is the day your humanity dies… Because today you are the Ninebreaker. I… I hope the guilt and shame crushes you. I wish on my dying breath that you never see happiness again, that you wade through misery as deep as the blood you… So gladly spill."

Another deep breath, "Just like me… No one will mourn you. There will be no one to bury you… No tears shed, because your pride will be gone, your name forgotten."

Berlioz closed his eyes, his whole body shaking as his finger twitched on the trigger.

"Do it… _Ninebreaker._ Claim the sorrow, the despair that you so rightly deserve."

The com line went dead and for a moment, Berlioz hesitated. The hatred and sadness on Wynne's face enough to make him freeze, a split second of doubt crossing his mind.

Then the trigger clicked, Supplice's rifle kicking back once.

He looked away from the display, unable to witness the results of his actions.

"Berlioz," the voice of the Operator shocked him, "The blast doors won't open as there's an obstruction. You need to move Reiterpallasch."

"Isn't this… Isn't this enough for you? Aren't you satisfied yet?!" He shouted through the choking lump in his throat.

"You still have work to do. Move Reiterpallasch and complete your objectives."

She didn't care. Even though the Operator had been there the entire time she was absolutely unfazed.

"Fine." He spat, dropping Supplice's right hand rifle, hooking the free hand inside the chest cavity while looking away.

The physical task of dragging the mangled and broken frame of Wynne's AC away from the blast doors was easier than expected as it had lost a considerable amount of weight due to damage.

However, Berlioz was fully aware that this was yet another step towards that line.

Letting the AC down to the ground, he turned back slowly walking back to the facility blast doors, picking up the rifle he dropped.

The Operator's came through, "They've locked the doors from the inside, you won't be able to remote them open. Give me a second."

He waited, only for a few moments before her voice came back, stunning him as it was using what could be considered the standard range of emotion, instead of the usual flat tone.

"Hey! Are you guys ok? You can open the doors now! I've driven him off so you don't need to worry anymore."

A pit opened up in his stomach. She was pretending to be Wynne, the voice was almost spot on as well. Over a falsified dodgy com line, it would be virtually indistinguishable to anyone who wasn't a professional audio expert.

Berlioz couldn't hear what was happening on the other end, but a moment later, the doors rumbled to life, beginning to split apart in the middle.

"You know what you have to do. Get to work."

The Operator's voice returned to the usual tone.

On the inside, the facility was virtually pitch black, only a handful of burning trash piles providing light.

He could see them all, thousands of smiling faces. Families, friends. All looking to see their saviour. They were the line before him. The point of no return.

A bolt of light in the driving rain was enough to illuminate Supplice's frame, the long shadow it cast stretching into the dark abyss of the facility's interior.

He watched like a wave as those smiling faces twisted and fell into horror and terror, the realisation that he was no saviour. Berlioz was the monster that had come to kill them all.

They had nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. Thousands could only cover their children's eyes and cower in the dark as they knew their fate.

Berlioz raised both rifles, his face wet, hands and body shaking.

 _Everyone… I'm so sorry…_

He squeezed the triggers and fired.

Berlioz stepped over the line.


	10. Epilogue: Broken Wings

Raven's Ark, Hangar

21:15

28/03/2106

The sound of rapturous cheering and applause filled the transporter hold as the ramp ahead of him slowly fell. As the brilliant lights of the Ark hold hit his dull, unfocused eyes, Berlioz Lamond stared at the massed crowd from the hold seat in utter disbelief.

It was full of people from wall to wall, they had packed even the vast space of the Ark's hangar almost shoulder to shoulder.

They didn't step onto the transporter ramp, but they were all virtually pushing to see him, their heads craning around the opening.

The noise was overwhelming, blending into an indistinct roar. Slowly on unsteady legs, he stood up, doing his best to try and dry his face with his jumpsuit sleaves.

 _I don't… I don't understand?_ He thought, walking to the end of the hold where the ramp dropped.

It was then that he could make out what some of the few at the front of the crowd were shouting at the bottom of the ramp.

"Props to the new Ninebreaker!"

"The monster got what she deserved!"

"You did the right thing man, we're proud of you!"

Two staff members were talking over the din loud enough for him to hear a snippet of their conversation, "I can't believe Wynne'd do that? I mean all those people, civilians no less, she killed all of them?"

The other nodded sagely, his arms folded across his chest, "Yep, Leonemeccanica's report says that Berlioz arrived just after she finished and he wiped the floor with her. Fucking scum had it coming. I'm glad our new Ninebreaker knows what to do with the bad guys."

 _The bad guys? What… What is happening?_

He didn't understand, none of it made sense. Why were they talking about Wynne like that? The one they should be vilifying was him, but instead, according to what he heard, even Leonemeccanica was spreading this false version of the truth.

Knowing he couldn't just stand in silence at the mouth of the transporter hold, Berlioz stepped down onto the ramp, walking slowly towards the cheering mass.

Someone shouted, "She murdered all those people, but you avenged them good!"

He wanted to stop them and explain, they shouldn't be saying this. It wasn't right. It wasn't what happened. How could they believe something so wrong?

More voices carried, cutting through the din, "Are you serious?"

"Yeah, Wynne's family lost everything. No settlement, her contract was voided so they get nothing. She served Leonemeccanica for six years, was Ninebreaker for over four of those, and she just loses her mind and fucks it all up. A real shame."

Berlioz reached the front of the crowd as he heard this, losing his footing slightly and staggering into the people at the front.

One caught him, laughing and said, "Woah there hero, you don't look so good, you need a drink."

Everyone's cheers renewed.

Berlioz almost threw up on the man.

 _Hero…_

How could they? They called him hero, while he returned with the blood of children and families on his hands. He was no hero. He wasn't even a Raven. He was just a sad, pathetic bird with broken wings.

It hit him like a lightning bolt, everything made sense in a sickening way. Of course this was the story everyone believed, because in order for Berlioz to keep doing his work, he needed someone else to take the fall in his place.

The only person that would do something like that for him, was Victor Rayleonard.

Victor would have spoken to Leonemeccanica the moment the Operator confirmed Berlioz's completion of the mission. He would have likely levelled some threat or bargain against them, to force them into covering up the truth.

With Rayleonard now in control of the Ninebreaker, he had the leverage to make such things become reality.

 _…_ _No one will mourn you. There will be no one to bury you…_

She had told him this because she already knew that is what her fate held in stock for her. Wynne went into that fight, knowing full well what would happen if she failed. But instead, she had made the selfless choice, to protect the many.

Her last wish, to save innocent lives, was crushed by Berlioz and in turn, he stole what her family were entitled to on her passing.

Everyone around him was still smiling, laughing, joking. Patting him on the back and telling him what a good job he'd done.

The speaker system in the hanger crackled to life and the voice of Governor Archambault boomed out, silencing the gathering.

"Berlioz, I would like to personally congratulate you on achieving the S-Rank 1 position, as well as claiming the title of Ninebreaker. I am grateful to you for… Putting an end to Wynne D. Fanchon's actions this afternoon. You have my thanks, as well as the thanks of everyone on the Ark."

A roar like thunder rolled from the crowd as everyone cheered again, breaking the silence that had fallen moments earlier.

He knew.

The Governor knew what had happened and did nothing. His tone said it all, despite the words. There was unmistakeable resentment and spite in those words of praise.

Ninebreaker.

The weight of the word suddenly pressed down on him as Berlioz processed what exactly he had heard. There was no going back now. No way to reach for the comfort of the past.

He could never face Alicia now after what he had done. How could he ever expect her to forgive him for the horrific acts he committed?

Berlioz's knees gave out from under him, no longer able to support him as he collapsed to the Hangar deck.

No one seemed to care as he finally broke down completely, howling in grief. Sobbing shaking his entire body as he cried on his knees.

The world continued on as normal as Berlioz Lamond gave into his sorrow, unable to cope with his own actions. Knowing that he was responsible for his own self-destruction, he could do nothing but scream in anguish as the tears ran down his face and into his blood soaked hands.

#####

Toronto II, Rayleonard Recruitment Centre

21:05

22/02/2106

Justin Carpenter was on the verge of falling asleep when the door to the Recruitment Centre slid open, a quiet chime indicating that someone had entered.

He had specifically chosen to work the later shifts because the amount of people signing up to die for the Corporations typically dropped off to around zero once it went past dinner time and that suited him just fine.

The paperwork could take an age to fill out if a person's records weren't in order and often could get shirty with the staff if it seemed like they were being turned away for no good reason.

When Justin actually saw the person who had walked in, he was more shocked at her appearance than the time at which she decided to enter.

She had short black hair that looked like it had been hacked away at with a saw blade instead of a hairdresser's scissors. The thin black t-shirt she wore had a strange stain on the front but he couldn't get a good look at it as the long open woollen coat that she had on was waving in front of it.

The expression on her face was what scared him, she looked tired, but at the same time the hollows under her eyes did nothing to soften the piercing glare that bore into him as she approached.

"Can I… Help you?" He asked as she stopped abruptly at the front of the desk.

She looked him dead in the eye, "I want to sign up."

"Ok," Justin quickly looked around but unfortunately one of the downsides to the late shift was that you had to man the desk alone. "Do you have any identification?"

She took out her wallet and handed him a standard issue identification card, which he inspected.

The photo definitely looked like her, although she had long straight black hair instead of the short rough cut she had now.

"Can I see your personal records?"

As her eyes narrowed, Justin suddenly got the feeling this wasn't going to be like the other times he asked this question.

"Look," she said, "I don't have time for this so I'll make it easy for you."

A second later he was staring down the barrel of a Rayleonard service pistol that she had pulled out from the back of her trousers.

"Either you forget about the paperwork and sign me on, or the cleaning crew mop up your brains off the floor behind you."

The stains on her shirt gave him the impression that this wasn't the first time she'd had to do something like his.

He looked back to the ID card, before pulling out a registration form and started filling out the details.

A minute later he folded it in half and handed it back to her.

"Alice Hutchinson, welcome to the Rayleonard Armed Forces."

#####

Former Kansas State, Raven's Ark Crash Site

18:45

25/08/2112

With the last shovel load of dirt on the pile, Elijah Thomson drove the tool's blade into the charred ground, leaving it embedded there as he let back on a piece of debris.

The upper half of his jumpsuit was tied around his waist as the exertion from digging in the desert caused sweat to pour off him.

Letting out a long sigh, he picked up a large thin piece of metal that had been tied to a steel tube and started to scratch away at it with his utility knife.

As much as running and never stopping was the sensible idea, he'd burnt out what little energy Havok had returning to the Ark's resting place. The AC was left on one knee at the head of the dirt pile, watching over it.

So far he'd managed to hold it together, burying the swelling emotion in his chest under the task of digging.

It had worked so far, but once he was done with his work on the metal panel, there would be nothing left to distract him.

Sure enough, after a few minutes, he was finished. Walking around to the end of the pile where Havok knelt, he drove the pole into the ground, the dirt giving way enough that it wasn't necessary to dig a hole for it to stand in.

Then he walked to the other end to admire his craft.

Sure enough, he could feel it all boiling over as his eyes began to sting.

He didn't want to say it, but he had to say it out loud. He needed to hear it.

He swallowed painfully before speaking.

"I was never good at this so I'll make… I'll make it quick."

If he didn't he'd never be able to finish, "I wanted to say thank you, for the inspiration to do better. For the honest words you gave me and the story you told. It can't have been easy to tell me but I will always be grateful that you trusted me."

He sniffed, rubbing his eyes as he continued, "I don't have much left for me anymore. The first thing I did was come here so I could do this for you because you deserved this much. I wish I could have done more but for now, I can do something for you."

Elijah stood up straight, regaining his composure somewhat, "I'll make sure the world knows the truth. I'll make sure they know the hell you went through under the Corporations. Everyone will see through their lies, I promise you that. They will pay, all of them."

His fists hurt from clenching so hard but he carried on, "And I'll find Alicia, I'll find her, keep her safe because you can't anymore and that's ok that you can't. God knows you've earned it. So please… Please rest long, and rest well."

After a moment of silence, he turned and walked away, the metal plate wavering slightly, reading.

 _Here lies_

 _Berlioz Lamond_

 _05/01/2079 - 23/08/2112_

 _A Good Man_

[-]

 ** _The End_**

[-]

Afterword:

Well as I'm sure you can tell by the upload date on this and the last chapter, I unfortunately failed NaNoWriMo 2015. But without it, I likely would never have written this as quickly as I did.

I want to apologize for any lapse in quality during this fic as it was written with virtually no thought to spending time going over it like I did with Burning Path, but I feel that in a way, Broken Wings perhaps needed that sense of urgency to achieve the themes I wanted to carry across.

Like with Burning Path, I want to thank all the readers and reviewers, past, present and future for taking the time to read my work.

I hope that you continue to enjoy any future fics that I may write.

Thank you again, I hope you have a wonderful day.

-MrMasher


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